


100 Women: Halloweentown Anthology

by misa1



Category: The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Genre: 100 Women Challenge, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 38,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misa1/pseuds/misa1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of quick Nightmare Before Christmas one shots, some very short, some a little longer, building off of the "100 Women" prompt table. I've been posting these on the 100 Women LJ and DW groups for a few years, but this is the first time I've assembled them into one anthology work. Most of these focus on Sally, but there are some centered on the other female characters as well. I've finished about 35 thus far. I'll post the ones I have, as I can, and add the new chapters as I finish more prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings, Middles, and Ends.

**Beginnings**

She twisted on the steel table, rolling from her back onto her stomach. The doctor gritted his teeth. _I should have left her in the restraints until she quieted_ , he thought, but it was too late now.  
“Sally?” he said. “Hello there, Sally.”  
Her eyes were enormous and bright, and she turned her head from side to side as the sight of the laboratory walls poured into her. She scrambled against the table-top, breaking two of her fingernails. The doctor pulled a sharp breath into his mouth, and that short hiss of air drew her attention. She turned to him, struggling to her knees. Initially, the doctor had been pleased with her height, however she now struck him as enormous and unwieldy. She would be difficult to control, at least physically. _I should have made certain her brain was functional before pulling the switch. A weak old man like myself can hardly be expected to manage an infant in a grown woman's body._  
“Sally.” he said again. She smiled, and reached toward him with a delicate hand, before falling from the table. She landed with a thud on the laboratory floor, eyes twitching with fear and surprise. The doctor flinched, his creaking wheelchair rolling backwards. She was no better than a small child. Quiet fell over the room. Sally twisted the hem of her makeshift dress. Her knees pressed to one another, while her lower legs swung out to either side. She looked up with uncertainty at the scowling figure beside her.

 

oOo

**Middles**

“What's inside the middles, mama?” asked the child. He looked like his father, standing past his mother's waist at only four years old. He hung on the orange band of her apron with skeletal fingers.  
“There's nothing inside them just yet.” said Sally. She moved small cakes, steaming from the oven, onto a wire rack, then brushed her forehead with the back of a stitched wrist.  
“What will you put in the middles?” the child persisted. His mother smiled down at him.  
“What would you like?”  
His brow furrowed, considering. It was a serious decision. When he'd pondered in silence for several seconds, his mother offered suggestions:  
“Pumpkin pudding with cinnamon?”  
“Nooo... We always have pumpkin.”  
“Worms, then?”  
“Nooo... They're not sweet.”  
He pointed to the kitchen windowsill, upon which sat his mother's hand-basket. An assortment of apples nestled inside. His father had brought them home from Independencetown as a surprise. There were apples in Halloweentown, but these were much sweeter, and gleamed bright red like jewels.  
“Apples!” he chirped. Sally clicked her tongue, smiling. Naturally, he'd want the apples. Out of just about any possibility, apples were the most work. She stroked his skull.  
“Alright, but apples will take a while. Why don't you go play in town? Go find your father and your brother.”  
He tore off, leaving the Pumpkin Queen alone in the kitchen. She moved to the basket, cupping one of the apples in her palm. She paused to look out the window at the barren hillsides surrounding the town. She could see the edge of the pumpkin patch. The Behemoth was there, striking a rusted hoe into the ground, digging new rows. The sky above was mottled gray, like sodden quilt batting. It was the end of April, half-way through the year for Halloweentown. Six more months to get ready. Six more months until Halloween night.

oOo

 

**Ends**

No one would ever suggest that Death’s job was an easy one. Some days were better than others, that much was true, but very few were glad to see him when he arrived. It was enough to give anyone a complex. Death took it all in stride, maintaining a pleasant outlook for the most part. Today however, he found it exceedingly difficult to fulfill his obligation. Sally Skellington sat by a casement window in her bedroom, gazing down at her family in the town square below. Being a mother had been the nicest thing she could ever have imagined - until she became a grandmother. Being a grandmother was all too soon exceeded by becoming a great-grandmother. Life, such as it was in Halloweentown, was exquisite. Death shifted his weight uneasily, and cast a furtive glance at his pocket-watch. The last thing he wanted to do was rush this, but there were other jobs waiting.

 

“Sally.” he said quietly. She smiled out the window. He tried again: “If you don’t want to be alone, we can tell them. I don’t that for most you know, but since Jack and I are friends...” She looked up.

“Don’t do that. They’re happy. I don’t think I could bear them being here.”  
Death nodded.

“...and Jack? You haven’t even said anything to him?”

Sally sighed heavily, twisting a length of braided curtain cord around her fingers.

“No. I haven’t. I know I should have. I suppose I just needed more time.” Her face brightened. “If I had just a little more time, this would be easier. Another week? I think that’s all I’d need to settle things here, and to talk to Jack.”

Death swallowed an exasperated breath.

“Sally, you know I have already given you extra time. I’ve done it more than once. There is no more time. I’m sorry.” His voice was firm. She chewed on her lower lip, a nervous mannerism held onto since she was a girl. He was correct of course. He had been more than accommodating to her, for longer than he needed to be.  
Death’s first visit was only a week before the holiday. He came to Sally in the kitchen as she worked folding tea towels. She remained calm, but her eyes betrayed cold shock at seeing him. She hadn’t ever met death, although Jack mentioned him a time or two. Sally reasoned with the intruder, less a plea than a negotiation. Halloween was very close. Every year she watched over the little ones while everyone else was out scaring. If she were to pass so suddenly, how would they manage? This was not to mention how Jack would handle leading the holiday so soon after his wife’s passing. Her arguments were sound. Although Death was seldom swayed, he agreed to postpone their business. He next returned on a still afternoon in mid-November. Sally sat under a tree on a gray hilltop, reading a picture book to two skeletal children on her lap. A third child, a small girl with eyes of solid black, worked intently braiding a lock of her great-grandmother’s hair. Sally looked up for an instant between sentences. She met Death’s gaze. _You can’t possibly do it now. Not in front of them. Please wait._ There were no words. His face tightened, and Sally could not have been sure, but he seemed to give his head a slight impatient shake. Impatient or not, he faded as silently as he’d appeared, leaving her with the children.

Contrary to common assumption, Halloweentown was no more the afterlife than any of the other holiday towns. It existed in a curious tangential place. Some in Halloweentown were indeed dead, having stumbled into the Holiday world by pure chance, or happy accident. Others would die and go elsewhere. It was all as much of a mystery to Halloween folk as it was anywhere else in the universe. Jack was the high king of Halloween. The Pumpkin King. Timeless, he would never age. He couldn’t, because he was needed. Santa Claus was the same. Sally it turned out, was not. She and Jack held one another on a snowy hilltop decades before, and declared that they were simply meant to be. As luck would have it, things are rarely that simple. Happily ever after doesn’t necessarily mean forever. Sally had not been created for permanence, as there would have been no reason for it. Her creator had been an old man. She was made for his alone. He would have seen little logic in insuring her survival beyond his own years, even if had he held the capability. The old man was now long past. His spherical tower remained across the square from the Skellington home, casting a broad shadow over the cobblestones. Sally did not look much different than she did all those years ago. More matronly in form, but that had been the case since her children were born. Her gentle face was much the same, save a tiredness around her eyes. Silver strands ran here and there in her red hair, but the change was subtle. Her stitched body ached more than she admitted to anyone, including Jack. That was to her a minor inconvenience, all things considered.

She returned her attention out the window, wearing an expression that was difficult to read. Death found that disconcerting. He rarely felt special obligation in these dealings, other than to finish the task at hand in as efficient a manner as possible, but Sally’s position, the position of her husband, the friendships and courtesies affected by this job, were very unusual. Death was uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and stepped toward her, reaching out his hand in a gesture of support.

“I am sorry, Sally. I know that you didn’t realize this was coming. I wasn’t certain myself to be honest, but here we are.”

She practically leapt from her seat, skittering away from his touch.  
“I wasn’t going to do it right then!” he said, more than a hint of defensive irritation in his voice. “I just wanted to touch your shoulder. That was all.”

Sally wrung her hands.

“Sorry! I-I’m afraid. I’m not ready.” She trembled. “What happens after? Will there be something next?”

“I can’t say anything about that.” Death answered. “Would you like to lie down?” He approached her again, but she slipped by him once more, shaking her head.

“It doesn’t much matter either way does it?” she said, her voice breaking. “Even if there is something, or someplace, if my husband won’t ever die, I won’t ever see him again. What about my children? Will they die?” Her tone had become almost accusing, and Death held up his hands as he answered her to the best of his limited ability.

“I don’t know the answer to that, Sally. I only know what I have to do when the time comes.”  
She looked at him with pained eyes, then glanced quickly around the bedroom. She wasn’t certain what she was looking for, or if she was just trying to remember everything exactly as it was - the thick purple carpet, the velvet draperies, the canopy bed, the photographs on the wall...

 

“I can play Chess.” she said, quite suddenly. Death tilted his head.  
“Come again?” he asked.  
“I can play Chess. I’m very good. I’ll play you for this. I know it can be done. Jack read me a story about someone who played Chess with you for a life. That was years ago, even before my children were born, but I remember it well.”  
Death scratched his head.  
“Perhaps there was a story, but that was all it was. I don’t work that way, Sally. Even if we were to play, you could never win.”  
Looking at her hands, she sat down again.  
“Tonight? Please? I'll go tonight. I give you my word. Just let me have until tonight.”

Death stood still for a long, silent, minute. At last, he nodded. Then - he was gone.


	2. Outsides and Insides

**Outsides**

_This is what you wanted, isn't it? Freedom? Are you still restless?_

Sally frowned, pinching her brow in an attempt to drown out the nagging of her inner voice. She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her head upon them. Chilly raindrops clung to her eyelashes, eventually letting go and sliding down her cheeks. Her lips quivered. She'd left the doctor for good more than three weeks before. _You never considered rain, did you? Or the cold nights? Why wouldn't you have thought of such things? Because Jack would take you in, of course. He'd be enchanted by your offering of food and drink. He'd rush from his tower, gather you up, and take you from the cold. Or... Did you even think beyond the basket? You leapt from a window, and shattered your body, just to make sure that Jack knew you cared for him. You ran away before he could even say thank you. But still, he could have thanked you the next day, couldn't he? Thanked you, instead of asking for that silly red costume. Take, and ask for more. Is that the man of your dreams? You're smarter than that._

“Shut up!” she said aloud, pressing her hands against her ears. She then clapped one hand over her mouth in embarrassment, realizing she'd cried out. The rain-drenched cobblestone avenue was empty. She sighed in relief, pushing closer to the roughhewn wall of a building. Confident that no one would hear, Sally spoke again, more softly:  
“Jack is a good man. He just doesn't know. Besides, I couldn't stay with the doctor forever.” She nodded in self-affirmation.

The sun would rise, the rain would dry, and once she wasn't so miserably soaked, everything would feel less dire. Most nights were starry and clear, Sally thought. Lovely, with streaks of clouds across the moon. She could endure storms for freedom under skies like those. And of Jack, well, there would be other chances to speak with him. There would be other opportunities to warn him about his Christmas. Eventually, wouldn't he have to listen?

oOo

 

**Insides**

It was the first time Sally had slept inside in weeks. There was no way she could have returned to the doctor's home after leaving the way she did. Not that she would have wanted to go back. She sat up in the narrow bed, blinking, straining to see in the dying light from Jack's fireplace. A great deal had happened in startlingly little time. Jack stretched in his sleep beside her, his attenuated form touching her side. As good as alone, Sally studied her surroundings. Her room at the doctor's had been nearly this big, but its metallic emptiness was yawning and cold in comparison. Jack's tower was warm, crowded with cobweb cloaked furniture. There was a slate writing board, an old desk piled with papers, broken Christmas balls and empty beakers, a telescope, tattered red velvet drapes, and shelf after shelf filled with hundreds of books. The shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, rising to such heights that even the famously tall Pumpkin King required a rolling ladder on curved brass rails to reach them all. Sally wondered if Jack had read all of those books. She could only read simple things: recipes and ingredient labels, for the most part. She was getting better, despite having no books of her own in the doctor's home. The doctor had books, of course, but they were tedious affairs with pages of enormous words and chemical symbols. There were odd charts of little honeycomb shapes with numbers and lines, too. Sally sometimes stared at them, thinking that if she looked for long enough, some cosmic answer would reveal itself. The doctor shooed her away from his things time and again. Those books were like the doctor himself, she decided. Perhaps filled with wondrous ideas, but difficult, and - like the doctor - unforgiving of her newness. She lay back into the pillows, wondering whether Jack's books were anything like him. It would be impossible to know, she thought, without looking inside. That was the way with anything, not only books.


	3. Past, Present, and Future

 

**Past**

        Sally dug to the bottom of the dark wooden casket, reaching until her entire arm was submerged to the shoulder.  The funereal vessel served as a cedar chest, storing old clothes in the master bedroom of the Skellington mansion.  The layers inside were arranged like geographic samples: Further down, meant further back in time. Though her offspring were all grown, the Pumpkin Queen's stitched fingers brushed past the homespun garments of their childhood, remembering each piece by touch. She'd made nearly all of them herself. She recognized a black satin cat applique, affixed to one of her daughter's sweaters. Below that, one of the boys' corduroy slacks, now too short by more than half. Baby monsters grow quickly, Sally thought.  Her new grandson would be no different, stars willing. She'd happily make new things for him too, but he'd start life in Halloweentown with an impressive assortment of hand-me-downs.

 “What are you looking for, darling?” asked Jack. He entered their room and knelt beside her.

  “Things for the baby.” His wife answered, with a dreamy smile.

   “Ah!  How wonderful!  But there's time enough for all of that, isn't there? Several months, anyway.” he said. Sally nodded, but set aside a small blanket, quilted with green and purple squares.

   “There is. I just want to see what we have.”

    “I could have told you we have plenty.” Jack laughed. “Five children, and you sewed up a storm for each of them.”

 

The Pumpkin King pecked his wife on the cheek, catching her on his arm as she nearly toppled forward into the casket.  Her face took on a peculiar expression.

         “What is it?” he asked. Their eyes met, as Sally slowly pulled an item from the depths: A threadbare patchwork dress, constructed with seams and stitches far cruder than anything produced by her hand.

“Ooooh...” Jack breathed.

His wife gathered the dress into her lap, spreading the bodice across her outstretched fingers, and remembering when its lashed-together scraps where the only things she could call her own. 

oOo

 

**Present**  

“Any minute now!” called the mayor, nodding.  He lifted a hand over his brow and looked to the horizon.  Sally followed his gaze, a tranquil smile across her lips. Halloween night. The townsfolk would soon return, marching and singing as they celebrated the frights of another successful year. Another year, helmed by their beloved leader. There was typically a rush of adoration at The Pumpkin King's feet upon arrival in the town square, as his citizens jostled for position, each trying to be closest to him, but this year was different than the last. It was different from all the years before.

 The townsfolk poured through the gate, swirling into the square to thunderous music and cheering. They pressed into a buzzing circle around their king. Sally quietly left her spot near the witches' cauldron, where she'd spent the evening watching her husband's work reflected on the churning liquid within. At her approach, the throng shifted, finally parting respectfully to leave a pathway clear between their king and his mate.  It was Halloweentown's first holiday with a queen.  Jack stretched out his arm, and taking Sally’s hand, he pulled her close. The pair folded into a happy embrace. Much of the citizenry found these displays from their first couple a wonderment. They stared, fascinated. Others rolled their eyes. At least before, they'd all had an equal share of Jack's attention. Sally had permanent priority now. It even struck a few as somewhat unfair. She wasn't frightening after all, and didn't even go out on Halloween night herself.  

“She's an odd match for him.” sighed one of the witches.  Such things had been said before. Her sister nodded, as the pair traded dismissive shrugs.

 The celebration rolled on, continuing until the sky glowed low in the east.  As one, then another creature retreated for sleep, they glanced back at their king and queen. The couple shared a seat on a broken stone ledge.  Sally sat across on her husband's lap, her eyes sleepy. They hid behind a curtain of her hair, kissing and talking far too quietly for anyone else to hear.

 

         “ _Did you watch?”_

_“Of course I did.”_

_“It was wonderful this year, wasn't it?  I felt so much better than last year!  As if everything were new!  As if this were the first_

_Halloween ever!”_

_“It_ was _wonderful.  And you were horrifying.”_

_“You helped more than anyone knows.  My queen is simply full of the most frightful ideas.”_

_“Happy Halloween, Jack.”_

oOo

  

**Future**

 

Jack pressed the tips of his long fingers together, thinking.   

 “Wouldn't you like to see Christmastown? I'd love to take you there.”

 Sleepy, Sally leaned up on her elbows, her hands folded beside her cheek.

 “Maybe. But I don't want you to get into trouble again, Jack.

 “Trouble? I wouldn't! I know I wouldn't!” he said. “I've most certainly learned my lesson about such things. And after all, with you by my side, I couldn't very well get into mischief, now could I?”

 She favored him with a heavy-lidded, playful smile, the likes of which he could never have imagined from her before that disastrous Christmas.

 “By your side, Jack, there's nothing but mischief.”

 Her words made him chuckle. He eased his love onto her side, touching his forehead to hers.

 “True enough, but perhaps our mischief keeps me out of trouble, wouldn't you agree?”

 

Sally kissed him, then closed her eyes. She'd almost fallen asleep when he spoke again:

 

“I'd like to tell Sandy Cla- er, _Santa Claus_ , that we're together now.”

 “I liked him.” she said, her soft voice sliding into a yawn.  

 “And he you, from what I recall. He said I should listen to you, Sally.”

 “Mmmhmm. You should go to sleep now, Jack.”

 

The quiet dark wrapped around them and Jack closed his eye sockets, only to open them once more, moments later.

 “Sally? Did I tell you there were other doors?”


	4. First, Last, and Only

**First**

 

She couldn't have known.  She barely knew her own name.  It was an accident.  Just an accident.  Growling, the doctor held an ice-pack to his head.  His creation stood before him, rocking on her feet and twisting her fingers.   

“Sorry.” she said. 

“No matter.  But remember next time!  Throw the rest of those leaves in the garbage, and be sure that this never happens again!” 

Sally nodded vigorously.  She turned and walked away to the kitchen. 

“Ugh.  Such an empty headed girl.” the doctor groaned when she had left.  “Nightshade in my tea!  This was a first, even for her!”  

Igor nodded, pleased to be on the far side of the old man's irritation.   

Downstairs, Sally plucked a round jar from its resting place beside the wood stove.  She flipped open the lid, looking in at clusters of drying leaves.  She raised her eyes to the grated steel ceiling, the floor of the laboratory above.  Sensing the doctor was occupied, Sally closed the jar.  She slid it to the back of a cupboard, bracing the door with her fingertips until it rested shut.  Clicking her tongue, she brushed a trash pail in the corner with her foot as she passed, letting it rattle against the stone wall.

 Lying in bed that night, Sally walked the corridors of her mind.  Her brain was full of useful things.  They revealed themselves to her a little at a time.  Something small would happen, and it was as if a new key was dropped into her hand.  She saw those scraggly curling leaves in the cemetery, and for no reason she could discern, she knew what they were.  She knew immediately what they could do.  Her brain told her.  She knew plants.  She knew kitcheny things like boiling liquids, spices, iron cook pans and stew pots.  She knew fibers and cloth.  Darts, pin-tucks, short-rows, needles, pins, pleats and folds.  Knit, purl, slip-slip-knit...  Her brain was a magnificent library.  Smiling, she wondered how many times she could get away with steeping those leaves in old man's tea.  How long would it take, before he'd realize that it wasn't an accident?  

oOo

 

 

  
**Last**  

 

_“You've poisoned me for the last time, you wretched girl.”_

 The old man spat a curse under his breath.  He shouldn't have smashed the lantern, but the rage he felt upon seeing her room empty had gotten the better of him.  Seizing a splinter of hope, he jerked his chair forward, scanning the dark chamber.  It was a useless effort.  She could hardly be hiding.  The room was spare and open, furnished with only a small table, a sewing machine, and a rusty cot.  A straw broom leaned against one wall.  

“Igor!” barked the doctor.  “Igor!  Come up here and clean this mess!”  He motioned to the smashed lamp, though his assistant wasn't yet within sight.  Engaging the chair's motor once again, he crossed the room to the large, ovoid window.  The gridded steel guard hung open, creaking painfully in the wind.  

_No.  She couldn't have...  She isn't that daft, is she?”_

 The doctor hesitated before pulling his chair parallel to the window.   He hoped she wouldn't be so damaged as to make repairs an impossibility.  If nothing else, her parts were valuable.    He paused again before leaning out, peering down at the walkway below.  Nothing.  Nothing but a forgotten orange leaf, twitching on the stones.  

oOo

 

 

**Only**

 

Jack knew the human world.  He'd traveled it from end to end.  He told Sally of soaring towers, vast deserts, and wide, dark oceans that seemed to stretch on forever.  He was a traveler of darker realms as well.  He slid easily through spirit worlds, gathering inspiration for Halloween.  

 “They're not all as nice as us, you know.” Jack said.  Sally and he lounged in his tower.  It was shortly after Christmas.  Thunder rolled across the sky outside.  Jack turned to one of the tall windows, watching rain soak the glass.  “Halloween is just for fun.” he continued.  “That's much better, in my opinion.  I was born to be here, to be the Pumpkin King.  I could never be truly happy anywhere else.  You are so very Halloween, my darling.” he said, grinning at Sally.  She returned the smile. 

 

“I didn't know there were creatures like us in other places.” she said.  Her life was so new.  She'd never left Halloweentown.  She found it difficult to even imagine what other worlds could be like.

“Oh, yes.” Jack went on.  “Our kind are all over.  But as I said, Halloweentown is special.  We leave it at a good scare.  What's not to love about that?  But not everyone has such restraint, I'm sorry to say.”

Sally nodded, creasing her forehead at the information.

“You've seen a lot, Jack.” she said after another percussive thunder roll.  Jack gave her a sheepish chuckle, scratching his skull with elegant fingers.

“Eh, I suppose I have.  I didn't gain much wisdom in my travels, however.  Poor Santa Claus would probably attest to as much.”

 “Do you have lots of friends in other places?” Sally asked. 

“Hm.  I don't think I'd say 'a lot', but I do have some.  I used to be more social.  Over the years, holiday after holiday after holiday, I got so very tired of everything!  It all felt hollow.  Hollow and empty, as if I were an old bottle.  I stopped accepting invitations, simply because there was nothing that moved me.  That was probably wrong to do; it's never a bad thing to be thought of, after all, and they meant well.  So many creatures used to want to talk to me, just because I'm the Pumpkin King.  Females especially.  There was never a shortage of lady ghouls, eager to hang on my every word.  I'm sure I disappointed them more than once.”  

 Jack was thoughtful, stroking his chin as he remembered those long days of ennui.  They seemed a lifetime away in the clear light of his life after Christmas.  Sally looked at her lap.  The room flickered with lightning, chased by a deafening boom.  

“Such a pretty night.”, murmured Jack, distracted from his memories.  “The storm is close.”

“Did you have other girlfriends?” Sally blurted.  Jack blinked twice, as she went on, wringing her hands as she spoke:

“It makes sense that you did, of course.  You've been around much longer than I have.  You've been the king, and you've gone to far off places and seen the world...  It stands to reason that you've had...loves.”  She hiccuped on the word as it fell from her lips.

 “Oooh.” Jack breathed.  “I didn't say that.”  

He slid close to Sally, leaning his skull under her down-turned face so that he could look in her eyes.  She had to smile at that, letting him lift her chin.  

“I've never before had a _love,_ Sally.  Only you.  You're my dearest friend, my soul-mate, and the keeper of all my secrets.  You must know that.”

“I love you so, Jack.” she said.

“And I you, Sally.  You're the only one who makes any sense in this insane asylum.”                       

 


	5. Tears and Laughter

**Tears**

She sat in the manor kitchen, concentrating on the small blue apothecary bottle in her hand.  A massive text lay open on the table, its gilded edges concealed under a cloak of cobwebs and dust.  Sally rolled the bottle in her palm.  She tried to remember the lonely times.  Closing her eyes, she conjured those cold moments when she thought she'd be sorrowful forever.  She could have filled a dozen of these bottles back then.  The sound of her old bedroom door, locking from the other side; that night outside the tower; Christmas eve - just as Jack's sleigh left earth.  She remembered hopelessness.  

 A little sneeze rose from the basket - then a hiccup.  Opening her eyes, Sally smiled.  She leaned forward, looking over the basket's edge.  One of the babies was asleep, spreadeagled on his back.  The other was awake.  He looked at his mother.  Sally couldn't see his mouth from where she sat, but she knew he was grinning at her.  She could tell by the tiny curved creases that appeared below his black eye sockets.  She wiggled her fingers at him in greeting.  The child squeaked, squirming and stretching pencil-thin arms toward his mother.  Sally scooped him to her before he could wake his twin.

 “Do you know what I'm doing?” she whispered against the side of his skull.  “I'm working on a new potion for Halloween.  See?”  She slid her fingertips across the onion-skin page beside her.  Interested, the baby reached to grasp the ancient paper, but his mother distracted him with a lock of her hair as she spoke:  “I'm missing an ingredient.  I need 'six teardrops from a queen'.”  She lay her son on her lap, cupping one hand under the little skull as she went on:  “I'm a queen, but I just can't seem to manage any tears at the moment.  Not six, not even one.  Why do you think that is?”

The child squealed.  An grin crossed his skull, ecstatic for one so small.

oOo

 

**Laughter**

 

There was a small toy, standing alone on a side-table in Santa's house.  My Sally paused.  She studied the toy, taking the item in quietly, as she did everything.  It looked like nothing one would see in our town, all candy-bright colors and shine.  Her fingers rested on her lips as she considered it.

“We've been working, and working, on those.” Santa explained with a sigh.  “Went through batteries like mad.  Happy children, but the parents - not so much.  They're much improved now, finally.  By next Christmas, they'll be even better.”

“What is it?” Sally asked.  Santa obliged her question, pressing a tiny square switch on the side of the contraption.  It sprang to life.  Lights sparkled, as a music box inside began to play.  Three tiny  birds, no larger than the first joint of my finger, emerged from a door at the bottom.  They looked like those awkward, flightless birds one sees everywhere in Christmastown, only these were red, blue, and green, instead of black and white.  Dutifully, the birds ascended a plastic staircase, taking each little step, one at a time.  Sally exhaled a soft coo of wonder, folding her hands under her chin.  

“Will they fall?” she whispered, as the trio neared the top of the stairs.  They did not fall, but slid upright down a spiral sliding board, circling again and again before coming to a stop at the base of the steps, ready to repeat the process.  Sally gasped, then laughed with more pure delight than I think I've ever heard from anyone in my long years of existence.  She practically glowed, giving a small, giddy hop as the first bird began his second descent.  I realized just then, that I'd never before heard Sally truly laugh.  It was sparkling, and warm enough to melt snow.  It melted me.                    

 

                     

 


	6. Hope and Fear

**Hope**

Snow was beautiful, just as Jack had said it was.  He hadn't mentioned the sparkle, the way it glittered in moonlight like sugar crystals.  Neither had he said that snow was cold.  For some reason, that detail surprised Sally less than the sparkle.  She climbed the spiral hill.

 He'd touched her hand in Oogie's dungeon, when everything was over.  After Oogie was no more, after Santa had left, propelling himself upward in a shaft of stardust, Jack had touched her hand.  He'd folded Sally's small fingers in his much larger ones, gently turning her to face him.  She'd felt her cheeks warm, and her eyelids dropped in response to some innate cue within her, as she gazed up at him.  Jack spoke to her more softly than he'd ever done before.

  _“Sally, I can't believe I'd never realized that you...”_

 

...And that was as far as he'd gotten; as far as _they'd_ gotten.  White light stabbed into the dungeon.  Sally couldn't have felt more intruded upon if the Mayor had poured a bucket of cold water down from above.  But, Jack held fast to her hand.  His grip firmed, and he pulled her along behind him, not even letting go as they ascended from the depths.  As they rode back to town in the Mayor's hearse, Sally's thoughts spun.  What would he say to her when they stopped?  Would he hold her hand again when they got out?  Would they resume talking where they'd left off?  Well no, she reasoned.  Maybe not right away.  The townsfolk would be overwhelmed to welcome their beloved Jack back home, after thinking he'd be destroyed.  But – she'd still be at his side, naturally.  After all that had happened, at least he recognized how much she'd risked for him.  That much had been obvious in his tone.  

  When the hearse lurched to a halt in the town square, Jack walked away.  He simply...left.  Sally watched him go.  After several steps, it was clear that he was not going to help her from the car.  He was not going to take her hand again.  He was not even going to  look back.

 

 She sat alone on the hilltop, and within seconds felt the snow soften under her, seeping through her skirt.  She felt it, and couldn't have cared less.  She began to pluck thistle leaves, wondering if this game could be used a means to will a desired outcome, or if it was nothing more than a predictor of the inevitable.  Maybe not even that, she thought.  Regardless, it was all she had, and Sally began with the negative.  Matched with a glance at the leaves, she knew that doing so would give her the answer she wanted.  Cheating, yes, but she needed to hear those words on the last leaf, even if she had to engineer it.

 

_He loves me not..._

_He loves me..._

_He loves me not..._

 

She touched the final leaf, closing her fingertips against it.  She closed her eyes.  She leaned into the kiss she imagined they could have shared, if only they hadn't been intruded upon.  And then, as luck would have it, she was interrupted yet again...    

oOo

 

 

**Fear**

**  
** _(Note: This is an excerpt from the longer fic, The Good Heart, posted on the pit)_

Sally turned through the pages of a renaissance art book.  Jack’s tower was a veritable library of volumes on just about any, and every, subject one could imagine.  Sally was not an expert reader, but she was learning.  Tonight, she looked at paintings and sculptures, the likes of which she had never before seen.

“These women don’t look like me.”, she murmured.  “I suppose I should say, I don’t look like them, since they came first.”

Jack smiled.  He turned to his side.

“You’re beautiful, Sally.”

 

He stroked a seam on her side with his fingers.

 Sally laid the art book aside and looked at him.

“I’m not scary, Jack.  Not even a little bit.  Are you certain that’s okay?  Shouldn’t the Pumpkin Queen be scary?”

Lifting his tired bones, Jack sat up beside her.

“I am scary enough for both of us, Sally.”, he said.  She brightened.  A sudden thought struck Jack.

“Sally, have you ever seen me work?  Have you ever seen me...scary?”

She had to admit that she had not.  Everyone knew Jack was the scariest creature in Halloweentown, scarier even than the late Oogie Boogie, but now that he brought it up, Sally realized that she hadn’t seen it.  Jack grinned.

“You really should, just so that you know.”

Sally nodded agreeably, unsure what to expect.  Jack sat back from her, gathered himself for a moment, then...

His entire countenance transformed.  It was only for a matter of seconds, but the happy, familiar Jack disappeared, replaced by a snarling, demonic monster.  Then, just as quickly, he was back.

“How’s that then?  Are you alright?”, he asked.

Sally was visibly shaken, but caught her breath.

“That was terrifying, Jack.  I think...I rather liked it.”

Jack laughed.

“And _that_ , is why you are going to be my wife.” 

 


	7. Love and Lust

**Love**

 

Sally opened her eyes, taking a moment to remember where she was.  It was a shorter moment than that which she'd taken the previous morning.  A large blackboard on wheels stood, facing the foot of the bed.  It was crossed with elegant chalk script.  Sally leaned forward, reading slowly.  Most of the words were longer than those she'd encountered in recipe and potion books.  The letters arced and swirled, Jack's cursive rising and falling as his voice would, were he delivering his thoughts in person.  There was one word, scattered repeatedly, throughout: _love_.  Its frequency provided quick comfort to the quivery, still insecure part of her.  That part had registered a morsel of panic, at waking alone to a hastily scribed missive.  Also reassuring was an assortment of off-kilter hearts, some decorated with spiderwebs or pumpkin faces.  Jack had drawn them cuddled in the corners, and dancing across the margins, of his letter.  Love was a perfect syllable, Sally thought.  It filled one's mouth like a spoonful of something sweet.  As she moved back through the missive, again pausing on each _love_ , Jack popped up from the floor near the staircase railing.  

“Oh!  You're awake!  I'd hoped you were still asleep, so that I could surprise you!”  

Jack moved beside his chalkboard, grinning with pride.  “I've never written a love letter.” he said.  “It's pretty good, I think, but just words.  I had such trouble cajoling them into adequate expressions!  There's nothing... _big_ enough!  Really, there should be more amazing and astonishing words in the world.  I'd never realized such a problem existed in language.  Now that I'm trying to impart my romantic intent, I'm at a loss!  My brain is buzzing with the puzzle of it!  I - “  

“I love you, Jack” said Sally.  She'd interrupted him, placing a hand on his wrist. 

“Ooooh.  I love you too, Sally.” he said, more quietly.  He sat by her side.  “Love is all I really needed, I suppose.  The rest is decoration.”

 

oOo

 

 

**Lust**

 

 

Well, then...

 

This was new.  

 But.  Everything was new, in a manner of speaking, wasn't it?

 They'd barely spoken since waking up.  They smiled nervously at one another, then became deeply absorbed in the business of dressing and organizing for a long day of holiday preparation.  Jack's brow creased as he examined a pad of blueprints with a comical level of concentration. A quieter personality by nature, Sally's silence was less obvious.  She set about boiling water in the teapot, and sorted through her sewing basket for the third time in less than twenty minutes.  Each of them was consumed in his or her own thoughts.  They stretched busy-work tasks for as long as they could.  

 Firsts of any kind, Jack decided, are easy enough.  You know nothing.  It's all so careful and precise.  Firsts are easy.  It's the subsequents that shake you, that knock you from all you know.  The point at which the symphony begins its variations is when you find yourself surprised.      

 Facing one another across a charmingly scarred table in Jack's kitchen, their eyes met.  Jack looked as if he were going to speak.  Instead, he laid a lithe hand on Sally's.  He squeezed her fingers in his, before retreating to pour his tea.  She took a long sip from her cup, clasping it in both hands, below her chin.    

 “It's alright, isn't it?  Sally?” Jack said.  His voice was a pebble tossed into stillness.  It took a moment for the ripples to reach her thoughts.

“I think so.” she said.  “It couldn't be a bad thing.”

“No, no.  I don't believe so, either.” said Jack, brushing a hand down his lapel.  “But...it _was_ different, last night.  Don't you think?”

“It was.” Sally answered, slowly.  She tilted the tea against her lips once more.  Her cheeks shaded to  plum purple.  She smiled into her teacup.      

 


	8. Lies and Truth

**Lies**

“How is your new creation, Doctor?” Jack asked.  His voice was bright, filled with genuine interest.  Most days, the doctor loved nothing more than to talk about his work, but there was little to brag about when it came to Sally.  He was, however, the town's official mad scientist, and evil genius.  Such news could hardly get out.

 “She's a joy, Jack.  Simply a joy.”

“Marvelous!” said Jack.  “I expected to see her today, but she must be busy.  I imagine having her around is quite a help to you”

“For certain.” answered the doctor.  His eyes tipped involuntarily toward the second floor, but such a slip was invisible behind his dark lenses.  “She's in town.” he said.  “Running errands, you know.  She's of great use to an old man like me.”

 Jack nodded with a smile, and went on examining the doctor's holiday progress.  

 

 “Why did you lie?” she asked, her lower lip trembling.

“Sally, eavesdropping is hardly becoming of a young lady.” the doctor sighed.  He wiped his glasses with a cloth, as she peered out the laboratory window, watching Jack Skellington walk away.  

“I wanted to see him.” she said quietly.  

“He has nothing in the world to say to you!  What could you possibly talk about with the likes of Jack Skellington?” asked the doctor.  “I can't have you embarrassing us.  Kindly start dinner, my dear.”

“You said you'd sent me into town.” Sally went on, ignoring him.  “I'd like nothing more than to be sent into town!  I'd come back, if you'd just let me go.”

 The old man heaved another sigh, and replaced his glasses.

 “Sally.  The dinner.”

 

oOo

 

**Truth**

 

Shock and her companions ran until their lungs burned.  All that mattered was putting as much distance as possible between themselves and...him.  Jack.  They'd heard he was dead!  Dead, even for Jack, which would have meant...deader than dead.  Dead.  The Mayor said as much, circling the gouged path that ran along the hillsides, outside of town.  He'd called out from his megaphone, announcing with a hiccup that the Pumpkin King was no more.  

 The trio had felt exhilaration at the news.  Their glee was less from a desire to see the King's demise, and more in anticipation of the chaos sure to follow.  Chaos was always good for entertainment.  Besides that, Jack was the only one in town who wasn't afraid of Oogie.  With Jack gone, there was no one to stand in the way of Oogie becoming ruler of Halloweentown.  And if Oogie was the ruler, his only henchman would surely share in the benefits. 

 Even in the brief time they had to contemplate a new world order, Shock wasn't entirely confident that things would play out so well for she and her cohorts.  Oogie was unpredictable.  She didn't dare suggest such a thing, but it crossed her mind.  The thought worried her, even as she joined the boys in a triumphant circle, singing of their good fortune.  In any case, none of it mattered.  Shock felt icy breath on the back of her neck, and heard a monstrous growling hiss, as the Pumpkin King descended from the ceiling.  He was shaken and smelled of smoke, but very much alive.  

 And they ran.

 

The Mayor's hearse rolled by again.  The politician dabbed at his pale tear-stained face, as he turned back toward town.  

 “Hey!” Shock called out.  The boys looked at her, scowling.  She called again, and the vehicle lurched to a stop.  Shock began to approach, when Lock and Barrel caught her by either arm.

“What're you doing?  We need to go hide!  We can't talk to him!” said Lock.  Barrel nodded frantically, tugging her back.

“Shut up!” Shock spat.  “You're so stupid!  Jack'll sniff us out, where ever we hide!  If we tell the mayor that Jack's alive, maybe it'll help us out!  We'll be helping!  Or we'll look like we're helping, anyway.  They'll leave us alone.”

 Lock closed his mouth, considering.  He released her with a shove.  

 “Jack's alive!” said Shock, once she'd reached the hearse.  The mayor's face didn't revolve.  “He is!” she pushed.  “Good as new!  He's back at Oogie's place, right now!”  

 “You three are the worst...the most awful, cruel, heartless... “ sniffed the mayor.  “How could you lie about something like this?  Jack fell from the sky!”

“You're the liar!  He's alive!” shouted Lock.  He'd trotted after Shock, and now hung over her shoulder, pointing at the Mayor.  Shock arched her back, knocking him away from her.  The boys were still running on adrenaline from the surprise of Jack's return.  They were rash, having temporarily lost all cunning and survival skills.

“It's the truth, Mayor!  Honest!” said Shock in the most vulnerable voice she could conjure.  “We saw him!  He's going to rescue Sandy Claws, and make everything better!”  

 

The mayor couldn't remember any of the threesome ever telling a straight truth, but if this were true, it would be the most welcome news he could imagine.  He narrowed his blood-shot eyes.

“Show me.”        

 

 

 


	9. Clean and Dirty

**Clean**

“I'm glad I told you about the fog juice.” Sally said suddenly.  She rested her chin on her knees.  An iridescent green soap bubble floated past her cheek.

 “I'm sorry that didn't work.” said Jack.  “Sorry it didn't stop me from going.  Things would have been better if it had.”

 “I don't know if that's true, Jack.” said Sally. “Things are better now.  Maybe they wouldn't have turned out this way, if the fog had stopped you.”

 Jack nodded, frowning.  She was probably correct.  One small detail changes everything which follows.  Life was like that.  

 “Anyway...”, she went on, “I'm still glad I told you.  I knew I needed to, but I was afraid you'd be angry.”

 Jack continued to frown, in dark contemplation.  

 “How did you keep from being seen?  From being caught?” he asked.  Sally shrugged, giving her head a shake.  Her hair trailed in the water, waving like graceful ribbon under the surface.  

 “I was careful.” she said.  “But mostly lucky, I suppose.”

 

She was lucky indeed, thought Jack.  The townsfolk had soaked up their leader's fervor for Christmas.  However misguided, their dedication to the new holiday cause had been complete, their desire to please, uncompromising.  If Sally had been seen trying to sabotage the effort?  What would they have done to her?  The idea made Jack's bones cold, even as he sat in steaming water.  More chilling was the quick realization that he might not have stopped them.  _I'd like to think I would have.  In fact, I know I would have!  I would have been angry, yes, or disappointed, but...I wouldn't ever have let a soul hurt her._ Jack looked up, his gaze meeting hers.  He wasn't sure if he believed himself.  Halloween-Christmas had been dangerously intoxicating, at least while it lasted.  If she'd been seen, things would have gone differently.  Likewise, if her plan had been successful.  Or his plan, for that matter.  If the humans had loved their new, grand guignol Christmas gifts; if they'd applauded him, rather than shoot his sleigh from the sky.  He would not have raced home in a fevered rush to find Santa.  And if he hadn't done that, then Santa...and Sally...  A labyrinthine tangle of alternate outcomes crossed Jack's brain.  None of them were good.  He released a groan, and touched his skull.

 

“Jack?  Are you alright?” Sally asked.  

 “Just barely.” he said.  “Sorry.  Do you like the bubbles?  They're a pretty color, don't you think?  Like swamp water.”

 “It's okay now, Jack.” said Sally, pushing past his change of subject.  “Even if it takes a while,  everything turns out as it should.”

 Jack popped a wandering bubble with his tapered fingertip.

 “I didn't used to think so, but these days, I do believe you're correct, Sally.”

 

oOo

 

**Dirty**

“That's disgusting.” said Shock, wrinkling her nose.  Lock held the creased and battered magazine aloft, letting it fall open vertically.  Barrel pushed in against the older boy's side, trying to see.

“It's disgusting.” Shock repeated.  “And you shouldn't have brought it here.  We'll get in trouble if anyone knows you took that thing.  You're not supposed to swipe stuff from the people world.”  Lock pushed the magazine into the girl's hands.  

“Shut up.  It was in a trash can.  Right on top, too.  Hey, read that part there, will ya?” he asked.  He pointed to one of the few text covered pages.  Shock rolled her eyes.  

“Read it yourself, stupid!  Why should I read it?”

“Come on, Shock!” Barrel sulked.  “You read stuff the best.  If one of us reads it, we'll miss something!”

It was true.  She read the best.  Shock obliged the boys' request, mostly to reaffirm her superiority.  The words were strange.  She picked through them as one would tip-toe through mud.  

“This is totally lying.  No one does this stuff.” she scoffed.  The boys shoved her to keep going.  

“Nuh-uh!  Some people do!  Anyways, what would you know about it?” said Lock.  

Shock didn't know anything.  At least, nothing for certain.  She found these strange deeds recorded in boastful letters laughably ridiculous, yet somehow threatening.  

“No one does this stuff.” she said again, more quietly.  

“Maybe not here.” Barrel conceded.  “But it's not from here.”

“Keep going, Shock!”, Lock pressed.

Shock read on, at once repulsed and intrigued.

 

 


	10. Hands, Hair, Eyes, and Skin

**Hands**

Sally sat by herself under the dark green canopy.  It had been erected over her sewing machine at Jack's request.  The covering gave her a makeshift home, minimalist as it was.  The doctor must have given up on me, she thought.  There was no hiding anymore, what with her machine here in the square, and an assignment to keep her seated behind it for most of each day.  Christmas was coming.  _Whatever that means..._ she thought.  

 She plucked at the stitching on her wrist, breaking the thread.  Her hand slipped off, falling neatly into her lap.  The fingers spread, arranging themselves like the legs of a spider.  Sally cupped the detached hand in her other one, lifting it beside her face.  It caressed her cheek, then patted her lightly as a parent might do to a sorrowful child.  Resting on her shoulder, the hand pulled at the stitches on the opposite wrist, freeing its companion.  Sally lowered her wrists to her lap and closed her eyes.  Her hands gently rubbed her shoulders and smoothed her hair.  They stopped now and again, pressing their fingers to her lips, and she lowered her chin to meet them.

 She wondered if it was a cheat in some way, taking comfort like this.  She guessed that it was, or the question wouldn't have asserted itself in her head.  Then again, how much of a cheat could it be?  Not much of one at all, given how fleeting its comfort, and it was better than nothing.  Removed from her body, her hands weren't exactly a part of her.  She didn't control them.  She didn't have to.  They were completely on her side.  

 

oOo

 

**Hair**

 

Rarely one for vanity, Sally made a quiet exception when it came to her hair.  No one else in town had anything like it.  As lovely as stitches and scars were considered among her people, such things were ten a penny.  Sally's hair was different.  The color of candy apple syrup, it hung past her waist, stopping well below the curve of her hips.      

 Tresses like that required formidable maintenance.  They took ages to dry after washing.  They caught in the wind, stretching away from her in whipping, waving ribbons.  They demanded braiding before bed, threatening, if neglected, to hopelessly tangle and snarl while she slept.  It was enough to make one question the wisdom of keeping them.  At half its length, Sally's hair would have remained striking, if not extraordinary.  She couldn't say that thought had never crossed her mind, particularly when errant strands broke loose and insisted on draping into her scrub bucket water.     

 But not tonight.  Not as she lay on her belly in the narrow tower bed.  Her new love Jack sat on the floor, and she let her hair spill over the bedside into his lap.  He pulled a comb through the red waves.  Closing her eyes, she hummed a sigh of pure contentment.        

 The night she jumped from the doctor's window, Sally had put two things into her dress pocket: a spool of thread, and her comb.  Starting a new life without either would have been unthinkable.  

 

oOo

 

**Eyes**

 

A small band of Halloweentown children ran around the square, hurling themselves feet and claws first into cold puddles left from the previous night's storm.  Sally took a momentary break from her work to watch them.  Children were a puzzle to her.  She'd never been one herself.  She wondered how different she would be, if she'd known a childhood.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a large woman in a faded flower print dress entered the square.  She was preceded by a round little boy.  He bounded happily in front of his mother, restrained by a thin strap clasped in her fist.  The boy's eyes were lashed shut with loops of crossed sutures.  The woman unfastened the strap, allowing him to join his friends.

 “We weren't sure whether those were a good thing, at first.” the woman mused in a scratchy, yet maternal, voice. Sally turned, realizing the words were directed at her.  It was curious, she thought, how little anyone in Halloweentown talked to her before she became a fixture at Jack's side. It was as if his attention rendered her suddenly visible.  The woman continued on, motioning to her offspring.

“His eyes.  Why, when we came 'round on this side, and saw what they'd done to Ethan, we didn't know what to think.”

“The stitches?” Sally said.  The woman nodded.

“Neddy and I didn't get that treatment.  But you know...  Different undertakers, different tastes.  What can you do?  Anyway, we just didn't know what to make of it at first.  Takes a while to get used to things.  We were stuck in that _living_ mindset.”

“You're not from Halloweentown?” asked Sally.

“No, but we've been here for ages now.” said the woman.  “All slipped over together, the three of us.  S'pose some would say that's a bigger tragedy, but I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. We're together, after all. We got a little lost after the end came.  We took a wrong turn.  That was my Neddy's fault, but...”  She laughed, shrugging her shoulders.  “Died on Halloween.  Good thing, too!  Get lost in the shuffle any other day, and you might wind up wandering around some empty nowhere, or even holed up in your old house!”

“I see.” said Sally, though she didn't quite.  “I was made here.”

“Oh, I know, dear!” said the woman cheerfully.  “We're all so pleased.”  She lowered her voice, taking a step closer.  “Jack needed a lady. Don't know why none of us saw it before - but there it is.  He's a new man, these days.  Everyone says so.”

Sally stuttered, mercifully saved from having to respond by the approach of the children. 

“I have stitches!” said the little boy.  He placed a pudgy finger beside his eyes. 

“I do too.” said Sally.  “We're alike that way, don't you think?”  A smile warmed her cheeks, as the child beamed back at her.  

 

oOo

 

**Skin**

 

“I saw Jack talking to you outside!” the smaller witch said to her sister.  “What did he say?  What did he say?”

“Nothing of importance.” the taller witch sighed.  “He scolded me about that Sally again, and asked if we could remember to treat her kindly.”

“We've never been unkind!”

“I know it!  We've never been unkind.  It must be the littlest thing that sets her off.  She'll need to have thicker skin if she's going to last around here, especially if she and Jack are carrying on so!”

The smaller witch scratched her head.  “That would be the doctor's matter then, wouldn't it?  If her skin is wrong.”

“Nooo, no, no.” sighed her sister.  “I mean that she's too soppy.”

“I've heard that little Shock say that Sally had some bite in her facing Oogie.” said The Fishgal. She'd been listening to her friends' conversation while soaking her fins in a cauldron of steamy water.  The taller witch sniffed.

“Maybe so.  But if she has some bite in her, she'd do to let it out more often.  Otherwise, she'll never last in Halloweentown.”

        

Shock bit the inside of her cheek.  She squeezed her teeth against the soft flesh, attempting to distract the pain from her hands and knees. 

“What's wrong?” asked Lock.  “Get up.”

“She hurt?” whispered Barrel.

“I am not.” Shock spat back. “I'm getting up. I'm doing it right now.”

She took a breath. The heels of her hands burned.  Pulling from the gravel, she didn't want to look at them, but did anyway.  Her skin was worn away at the points of impact, and black stone crumbs dotted the wounds.

“Wow, Shock!” said Barrel.  He licked a striped lollipop as he took in Shock's injuries.

“Huh.  Let's see your knees.” said Lock.  “You landed on that one real hard.”  His voice held a whiff of concern, at least as much as Shock had ever heard from him.  She pushed back into a sitting position, her bleeding knees facing the sky.

“Huh.” Lock said again.  One knee matched her hands fairly closely.  The other was more than a measure worse. 

“Your skin is all messed up right there!” Barrel said, pointing.

“Shut up.” said Shock.  “I can see it.  I'm not blind, ya know.”  She bit harder into her cheek.

“You, shut up!” said Lock.  “He's right!  That's a mess.  Think we should go see Dr. Finklestein?  Let's all go over there.”

“Yuck! No way!” said Shock. She waved her hands in protest, cringing at the sting of the air against her abraded skin.

“You can't just leave it like that!” Lock insisted.  “At least not that knee.  It's going to get all rotten and worms will eat it!”

“You'll get maggots.” said Barrel, nodding.  “They'll turn into flies, and then you'll have flies in your knee.  They'll buzz all night, and we'll never sleep.”

“Oh, you're so stupid.  The flies wouldn't stay.” said Shock.  She exhaled, fluttering her lips, and weighed her choices for treatment.

 

 

  


	11. Blood and Bones

**Blood**

 

A trio of vampires crossed the town square, holding aloft elegant black parasols.  Close to the stone fountain, they slowed.  Their small eyes blinked at one another.  They looked about in quiet bewilderment. 

From her sewing tent, Sally watched the group with her peripheral sight while pretending to adjust tension on her machine.  For no reason she'd ever been able to discern, she was one of a mere handful of females in her town.  Furthermore, she was _nearly_ positive that she was the only one to endure this particular inconvenience.  Not that it was much more than that.  Even if it had been, she could hardly stand the thought of spending all day inside by herself, keeping still like an upended ink bottle.  It wasn't as if there was no work to be done. 

The vampires stared at her.  Their pale faces registered concern, fringed at its edges with lurid fascination.  Sally did her best to act as if she hadn't noticed them.  The group continued slowly on, looking back over their shoulders at her as they retreated.

oOo

 

**Bones**

_(Note: This is a follow-up to events in my longer fic "For All Fraternity", which is posted on the pit.)_ **  
**

The Pumpkin King's eldest son, and namesake, lay on the old velvet sofa in the parlor, watching his mother.  Sally swept through the downstairs, placing items into her handbasket, double-checking the calendar, and whipping a comb through her hair.  Approaching the sofa, she extended a hand to help the boy to his feet. 

“Are you sure I'll be okay walking?” he asked.

“You've been fine walking all over the house for the past week, Jacky.” his mother answered.  Her tone was mild, but strangely clipped. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“Of course not.” she said, gathering him against her side.  “Let's go.  Lean on me for the stairs.”

 

“Mama...” he said as they made their way down to the manor gate. “You're always strange when we go to the doctor.”

“I wouldn't say that I am.” Sally replied.  Her son frowned.  She nuzzled a kiss onto his  skull.

 

 “Excellent, excellent.” said Doctor Finklestein. “He's come along well.  You're still changing the dressings?”

“Of course.” said Sally.  The child winced as the doctor prodded his healing leg. 

“Broken leg, broken arm...  Have you learned something from all of this, boy?”

The holiday prince was about to utter a heartless “Yessir”, when his mother spoke for him.

“Naturally, he has.”

“Ah. You'd say the silliness has been knocked from him then?”

“I'd imagine so, at least for now.” Sally answered.  “But he's only a little boy.”

The doctor breathed a soft “hmph” at that, and set to work redressing his small patient's injuries.  The laboratory was silent as he worked, save faint burbling from a glass beaker across the room.

“How are you, Sally?” Dr. Finklestein asked as he finished the last rounds of bandage on the boy's arm.  “Anything more of note transpiring these days at the Skellington manor?  Aside from your offspring's nocturnal galavants, that is.”

“I'm fine, doctor.  There isn't much of note with us right now, aside from work.  You know.”

The doctor nodded.  He wiped his dark glasses with a  square of cloth.

Jack jr. observed the interaction between the elderly doctor and his mother with keen interest.  Their conversations intrigued him at each and every appointment.  He'd studied icebergs in one of his father's books.  He'd read how a small peak pierces the open, while far more lies submerged.  Despite being only ten years old, he sensed a similar dynamic at work.

 The doctor backed his wheelchair aside, allowing Sally to ease her son from the exam table.

  “Any more for you?” he asked.

“I'm sure I don't know.” Sally replied.  Her voice held a slight flutter, which her son thought might have been a laugh.

 

 Their appointment over, the Pumpkin Prince and his mother crossed the square, walking slowly back home.  Sally again held the boy to her side, minding his leg and his arm.

“I can try to do it on my own, mom, if you're tired from holding me.” said Jack jr.

“I'm not, Jacky.” Sally assured him.  “At least, not from holding you.  But, please try not to break any more bones.”   


	12. Naked

**Naked**

I woke up alone in the bed.  The velvet drapes were parted, allowing a silvery puddle of moon glow to spread across the marble floor.  Sally sat quietly in its center.  She removed her nightdress, folding it neatly beside her.  Eyes closed, she lifted her face to the visiting light, wearing as serene and sweet an expression as any I've seen.  I hesitated to interrupt her reverie, but it seemed more improper to observe her in silence, without permission. 

“Sally?” I said.  She didn't start, just slowly opened her eyes and looked to me.

“Are you alright?” I asked.  She nodded, turning back to the window.  I crawled from the narrow bed, taking a seat on the floor, outside her moonlit circle. 

 

“What are you doing, darling?” I asked.

“Nothing.” she answered.  “Just...the moon is so lovely tonight, and I'm at peace.”

“It is a beautiful moon.” I said.  “But Sally?  Why...?”  She opened her eyes again at the question, following my gesture to her nightdress. 

“I suppose because I can.” she said thoughtfully, her voice barely a whisper. 


	13. Perfume and Lipstick

**Perfume**

A large man, his bald skull split by an ax, worked digging a hole in a sheltered corner of the cemetery.

“Thank you.” said Sally.  She knelt a few feet away, beside a potted plant with fearsome thorns.  The man smiled. He dabbed his forehead with a red cloth, before moving to lift the plant from its pot. Sally gently touched his arm.

“Mind the thorns.” she said. “There are so many of them. I can help, if you need me to. They won't bother me as much...”

He smiled again, waving away her offer before completing the task on his own.  Sally folded her hands under her chin as she watched, relieved to see the man's heavy work gloves deflect the plant's weaponry.

“What a strange looking thing that is!” declared a witch. Having lit her broom nearby, she approached to study the plant.  “Jack says it's from Valentinetown?”

“A gift for our queen.” said the large man, nodding. He rested his cheek on the shovel handle, proud of his contribution to the effort.       

“What's it good for?” asked the witch. 

“It's a rose bush.” said Sally.

The witch shrugged, leaning closer to the velvety black-red blooms. She quickly clamped her hands around her nose.

“Why, that smells ghastly!  Just ghastly!” she exclaimed, backing away. “Why on earth would we want a thing like that here?!”

Sally's eyes performed a barely noticeable flick to the sky, as she crept closer to the plant.  She cradled a newly opened bud between her fingers, bringing her face to the petals.

“It smells like Valentinetown.” she said, her voice sliding into a dreamy sigh.

“What a horrid place that must be.” said the witch.

Sally cuddled a blown rose against her lips.  The witch scratched her head, thinking their queen was a far odder creature than even she had previously suspected.  

 

oOo

 

**Lipstick**

“No unescorted children!” the taller witch barked. Shock gave a tug at the hem of her dress, and puffed a stray green curl out of her eye. 

 “I'm a witch too, you know!” she snapped, stamping her foot. The packed earthen floor of the cluttered shop absorbed all dramatic effect. “Anyways...” she went on, “I'd think you two old somebodies would want to show me the ropes. Don't you want an apprentice to carry this place on when you're gone?”

 The elderly women cackled at their small guest's offer. “Who said we're going anywhere?” said the short witch. Shock responded with a shrug, as the taller witch ascended a leaning step ladder to retrieve a book.

 “What you don't know would fill the dark lagoon ten times over.” the taller witch said over her shoulder. “We have no time for you here, useless little girl. Now buy something, or get!“

Shock was sure she could have boiled swamp water, if she'd only had a cauldron full to sit atop her head. She eyed a rack of brooms against the far wall. 

 “These flyinbrooms?” she asked easing away from the hags. The taller witch answered without a glance up from the heavy spell book, now spread open between the sisters. 

 “As much as, but no more than, any others. They're just plain old brooms, unless you have a charm to make them pop. We can include that, but it'll cost you.”

 “Are you buying a broom?” the smaller witch asked, suddenly hopeful. 

“I don't want any of these cruddy brooms. I could always enchant some old broom myself, if I wanted to.” said Shock. The old witches looked at one another with smiles so smug and knowing that Shock wished she could sock both of them. 

 “Buy something, or get.” the taller witch repeated. Shock pulled a cranberry-red jawbreaker from a jar on the shelf. She slapped it down hard on the front counter alongside a grimy coin.

 “You only bought one?” Barrel whined. 

 “Those things taste like yuck.” said Lock. She paid for it, too. Loser, loser, loser, Shock.”

 “Two losers, anyway. I'll give you guys that.” Shock said, rolling the gleaming candy in her gloved palm. 

 

She moved her eyes across the town square while Lock and Barrel chattered. The witch sisters stood in the entryway to their shop, leaning in lazy fashion against the door frame. Shocked guessed they were talking about the approaching weather. The taller one pointed to a patch of dark sky. Her sister nodded, cracked lips moving in response. Near the town fountain, Jack Skellington's wife Sally stood in a close half-circle with the amphibious Fishgal and portly Mrs. Corpse. Sally held a baby against her shoulder, swaying on her feet for his benefit. Fishgal placed her webbed fingers closed to her mouth, whispering something. Three women broke into hushed laughter at whatever was said. Shock squeezed the jawbreaker in her fist.

 

“She's making a mess!” said Barrel. Shock looked down. The warmth of her glove had melted the candy's waxy shellac, leaving her black glove sticky and stained with red. The boys laughed. 

Shock arced her arm in a half-hearted punch. The hit knocked Barrel lightly against Lock, but wasn't enough to provoke escalation. Across the square, the trio of women laughed again. Shock wondered if they'd tightened their circle in the instant she'd looked away. They seemed to be standing closer, an island apart from the rest of the town. The witches were back inside their shop. They'd closed the door behind them. 

 

Shock raised the jawbreaker. She pressed it to her mouth until what was left of the sticky red cinnamon stained her lips, making them sting. 

 “La di dah, Shock!” Lock laughed. He dodged from pure reflex, anticipating a strike. Shock let the jawbreaker roll down her fingers into the dirt near their feet. 

 

“Eff off, Lock.” 

 


	14. Jewelry

**Jewelry**

Mrs. Corpse wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten her rings.  After all these years, why on earth hadn't she thought to look for them before tonight?  Her husband checked another drawer, turning it over on the moth-holed bedspread to sort through its contents.

“They're not there!  I wouldn't have put them in there!” Mrs. Corpse sobbed.  Her portly frame shook with a fresh wave of tears.  

“Just checking, dear!  I'm just checking!  It doesn't hurt to be sure.”  Her husband handed her a flowered handkerchief.  

“This was with me.” she said quietly after patting her eyes.  She turned the tattered linen square over in her hands.  “I had this in my pocket when we arrived.  That's quite a thing, isn't it?  Why would I keep something like this, but forget my rings?”  

Mr. Corpse gave a shrug, not so much dismissive as befuddled.  His wife hadn't breathed a word about the rings since they'd arrived in Halloweentown.  Now years later, she sat awash in sorrow upon suddenly noticing their absence.  They both knew the truth.  Someone must have taken them off of her in the blurry hours after the accident. They could make a show of searching drawers and musty cupboards until sun up, but those rings were gone as gone could be.

“Please don't cry.” Mr. Corpse said, patting his wife's shoulder.  “We'll get something new. I'll bet we can find something much better.  Your old ones weren't the style here, anyway.”   

 

Hearing her practical husband opine on Halloweentown fashion made Mrs. Corpse smile into the damp hankerchief.  He pecked her cheek.  She looked down at her lap, at her left hand, and released a heavy sigh.  Faint bands of white crossed the mottled blue-gray skin of her ring finger.     

“Oh, fiddlesticks.  I'd just as soon leave it be, Neddy.” she said.  “I suppose they were a small price to pay, when I take it all in, that is.”

 

oOo


	15. Shoes

**Shoes**

**  
**_(Note: The rules for this table stated that you could use an original female character as the focus of a story twice. This is the first one of my original character shorts, about "Hazel", Jack and Sally's young daughter.)_

Hazel pressed her cheek against the hardwood floorboard.  She blinked into the darkness under her bed. 

“I can't believe you lost another pair.” her brother giggled.  Hazel shushed him, but the skeleton boy went on.

“Mom and Dad are going to raise the dead, Hazel.  That's the third pair since Halloween, isn't it?”

Hazel pulled herself from the floor, brushing a spiderweb out of her hair.  “Look under there for me, Guy.” she asked.  “Just look once more.  I can't see in the dark as well as you can.” 

Guy removed his skull with a flourish.  He placed it onto the floor under the the edge of the dust ruffle, pausing first to stick his tongue out at his sister. 

“Shoes gone again?” said another voice.  Two more of Hazel's brothers stood in the doorway of her room, barely concealing their amusement. 

“Come on now, Hazel.  If they're not right there, they must be gone.  You wouldn't have pushed them all the way under, after all, would you?” said Nicholas.  “You should know to put them in the closet by now.” 

 Hazel glowered at a knot on the floor.  She'd placed her shoes beside it the night before.  At least, she knew they'd landed there.  She kicked them off, before climbing onto the bed, to look at a book.  The thought tickled her brain to put them somewhere else, but was quickly forgotten. 

“Why does the thing under the bed always eat _my_ shoes?” she said. 

“Because you keep leaving them under the bed!” Nicholas laughed.

 


	16. Ribbon

**Ribbon**

_(Note: This fic was previously posted on the pit. It's a bit more of a complete thought than most of the small ficlets I've done for this table.)_

"Now, what the hell is that?" asked Shock, stopping mid-stride in the town square. Lock and Barrel paused, curious what their companion was on about. Shock crossed her arms over her chest, awaiting an answer. Sally looked up from her sewing machine.

"I'm sorry?", she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. Shock cocked her head and pointed. The ragdoll slowly raised her fingers to touch a thin band of satin, which crossed her hair. It was tied in an unobtrusive, flat, bow at the top.

"This?" Sally asked. Shock nodded.

"Yeah. What is that thing for?"

Sally gave a bewildered shrug.

"I-it's not for anything. It's just a ribbon. It holds my hair out of the way a little bit, but that's all."

She hoped that answer would satisfy Shock. The girl made an odd face, screwing up her mouth. She walked away. Sally watched her go, stymied by their interaction, but thinking it complete. Moments later however…

"Where'd that thing come from?" demanded Shock, back again. The boys groaned, eager to find more arresting diversions.

"Jack gave me a spool of ribbon." Sally answered with reluctance. Everyone in town was gossiping about Sally's relationship with the Pumpkin King. Just when she thought people had run out of things to talk about, now it seemed even her hair ribbon was an object of scrutiny.

"It's not a Halloweeny thing," observed Shock, "having something like that in your hair. People are going to think you're weird or something."

Sally returned her attention to the machine. Shock lingered a few seconds more, hoping the ragdoll would retaliate.

"Let's  _goooo!_ " Lock groaned, pulling on Shock's arm. "This is boring!"

Shock relented, walking away with her cohorts. While the three of them argued about how best to while away the remainder of the afternoon, Shock couldn't keep that ribbon out of her thoughts.

Sally was, in Shock's estimation, an excellent candidate for tricks. She was kindhearted to a fault, and had poor physical coordination. The closest the trio had ever gotten to teasing Sally had been Christmas eve, when she arrived at Oogie's place, apparently of her own volition. Prior to Christmas, Sally had been practically chained to that crotchety old doctor. Events unfolded as they had, Oogie was no more, and now Sally was Jack's girl. There were relatively few females in Halloweentown. Had there been more, Sally probably still would have stuck out, thought Shock. She was awkward, tall, and strangely shaped. Nevertheless, she wasn't worth messing with. As easy as it might have been to torment her, nothing was worth angering Jack. After all, who wanted to end up like Oogie?

"Jack is giving that Sally all sorts of stuff." Lock commented, as if he'd read Shock's mind. He tossed a pebble at a pair of ravens. The birds scattered with angry squawks. "It's a waste.", he continued. "Jack's the king, so he's got all kinds of money, but he won't ever do anything interesting with it! Just gets dumb, fluffy, things for a girl."

"Yeeeah, what a waste." Shock sighed.

"I wouldn't do that." Barrel echoed. "Who'd want a shiny, hair string anyway?"

"Girls need that crap.", said Lock. The ravens returned to the wall. Lock took a step towards them. They fled once more.

"Who says? I don't have anything like that.", Shock snapped, shoving Lock. He stumbled sideways before regaining his footing.

"I mean other girls. Fancy girls have them."

Shock scowled. If anyone had ever thought to call her a girl who'd need ribbons, she would have thrown a rock at them. Being told that she wasn't included in such a group, was somehow likewise bothersome.

"I could have that kind of thing.", she said in an airy voice. Lock and Barrel ignored her. They were busy dodging the ravens, who had decided to strike back,

Sally wound black thread around her bobbin. The mayor needed a spare suit jacket. He said he would bring her the one he had, so that she could get the measurements. Suit jackets, and new town hall banners, made Sally feel that she was finally a functioning member of the community. Rumors and gossip aside, her life was far more pleasant than it had been in the past.

"Hey.", barked an insistent, little, voice. Sally blinked at Shock. What now? The girl was alone, her partners in crime apparently elsewhere.

"Y-yes, Shock?" Sally managed.

"Give me that thing.", said the witch girl. She held out her tiny, gloved hand.

"Pardon?", asked Sally. Shock rolled her eyes. She pointed to the satin band.

"The ribbon! You said you have a whole spool, right? So - you should give me that one."

Sally tensed her brow, wondering what on earth one of Oogie's little trick-or-treaters would want with her hair ribbon.

"You're not going to hurt anyone with it, are you?", Sally asked.

"Huh?!", Shock snorted. "No!"

Sally pursed her lips. She pulled the end of the bow. The stripe of satin slid out of her hair, coiling into her hand. She held it out to Shock.

"Good. Thanks.", said the girl. She trotted away, leaving Sally puzzled.

"Where'd you go?", Lock asked. Shock straightened her tall, purple hat.

"I had to use the bathroom.", she answered.

"Whatever.", said Lock "You want to go steal pumpkins? They just counted 'em yesterday. If we take some, they'll be up all night trying to figure out why the count is wrong."

"Sounds good.", agreed Shock. She ran her fingers inside the band of her hat, making sure that no satin peeked out. Then - she ran away over the hillside, following Lock and Barrel.

 


	17. Hit

**Hit**

The Halloweentown citizens wholeheartedly embraced Jack's discovery.  Christmas was the most exciting thing to descend upon them in centuries, a hit of unparalleled success. The workers in the town square crackled with jubilant, and sometimes uncharacteristic, cooperation.  By contrast, Sally felt like a lump of lead, lobbed carelessly into their effervescence.  Her vision weighed her down, quickly puncturing any buoyancy for this Christmas endeavor.  She found her sleep fitful, interrupted by dreams wherein she was inescapably tethered to that burning tree.  By day, she made futile attempts to shrug off doubt.  She willed herself to soar toward December in happy lockstep with everyone else.  Despite earnest desire, the effort proved useless.  She might as well have been trying to force her way into a locked room by climbing through the keyhole.

 

“It's simply fantastic, isn't it, Sally?” said Jack.  He entered her sewing tent, beaming.  Sally forced a weak smile.  He'd come to give her measurements for the Sandy Claws suit.  That would take a little time, would it not?  Perhaps she'd be able to talk to him about her misgivings.  Attempting to do so hadn't worked before, but then the Mayor had rushed her along that day in the hall.  She needed to speak to Jack in confidence.  _Confidence_.  _Confidence is exactly what I need._ Sally thought.  _Confidence to talk in confidence._  She opened the small drawer under her machine and removed a ribbon tape measure.  Holding her breath, she stepped close to Jack.  She pulled the measure taught between her fingers. 

 

“I'd like to say something to you, Jack.  About this Christmas...” Sally started. 

 

A group of the townsfolk gathered a short distance from the sewing tent.  Most held horrific toys or handcrafts, readying their projects for inspection.  A few stood empty-handed, in need of further guidance from the Pumpkin King.  Ghoulish eyes expectant, they nudged one another in hopes of being first to catch Jack's attention. 

 

“Oh!” Jack breathed.  “It's astonishing, isn't it?  As I said, Fantastic!  Everyone is so enthusiastic!  I expected no less, but still!  Christmas has changed everything here, Sally!  Can you remember feeling such excitement in our town?”

 

Truly, she couldn't.  But then, Sally recognized, that didn't mean a great deal.  She'd barely been alive.  Most of her short time in Halloweentown had been spent locked away in the doctor's home.  As little as she knew of the world, such merriment might well have sprung up every fortnight.  She bit her lower lip, wondering the best words to next set free.  Before she could make another sound, Jack slipped from her tape measure, walking away as briskly as he'd strode in.  He called back to Sally over his shoulder.

 

“Sorry, sorry!  I'll return momentarily, Sally.”  He gestured to the waiting crowd.  “I'd best attend to these Christmas projects before it gets any later!  I promise I'll be right back!  Although, now that I think of it, you hardly need me!  You can take measurements from my clothes for the Sandy Claws costume!”  He took one long step back, swirled out of his suit jacket, and pressed it into her hands in one, fluid motion.  “There now!  That way, you can get started!  I'll just bring a pair of my slacks down whenever I find a moment.  Thank you again, Sally!  Your contribution is one of the very most important!  There isn't another soul who could do it!  I'm counting on you!”

 

She watched him leave.  The crowd folded around Jack.  They pulled him from her the way rivers of storm water slipped leaves away across the ground.  For several minutes, Sally stood motionless, still biting her lip.  A quick sting and a metallic taste on her tongue brought her back.  She sat again at the sewing machine, taking a moment to hold the lining of Jack's coat against her cheek, before beginning her measurements.             


	18. Hugs and Kisses

**Hugs and Kisses**

**  
** _Note: This is another fic originally posted on the pit._

Coming together as they did, after the tumult of Jack's Christmas, one might have thought that Jack and Sally would have discussed at once the circumstances of how exactly Sally wound up in Oogie's dungeon.  They teetered on the edge of that very conversation - before the Mayor interrupted with an ill-timed spot-light.  Now, weeks later, Jack couldn't say why it had taken them so long to revisit the subject.  If he cared to admit it to himself, the reason was mostly due to his own personality.  There was a single-mindedness in the way Jack went about his existence.  He did nothing half-way.  For nearly two months, his entire being was consumed with Christmas.  Quite literally knocked down to earth, he spun in a single evening from deepest depression, to triumph, to vengeance.  Then, when it seemed like nothing more could happen before sunrise, he fell in love.  The hows and whys of what happened at Oogie's struck Jack as important for a few minutes, but then...there was the Mayor.  The townsfolk cheered and dried their eyes.  Everyone was elated to see their king home, safe and sound.  And Sally.  Sally.  O-my-goodness-gracious-Jack-thought-I-am-in- _LOOOVE!!!_

 Once he was in love, nothing else mattered.  Really, what else could matter right now? Jack thought.  He had at least a dozen new songs to sing, not to mention poetry to write, and perhaps even a painting or two to create.                          

 Sally told him about the fog juice.  She did so one evening, as they sat in a coffin-shaped bathtub.  She was most matter-of-fact about what she'd done, relieved to have it out in the air.  Meanwhile, the chilling reality of a thousand alternate outcomes rattled Jack's brain from its bliss.  

 Jack crawled into bed that night, pondering his love's confession about the fog.  Lying in the dark tower room, he at last recalled their abandoned conversation from Oogie's dungeon.  Sally lay tucked beside him, curled against his ribs. 

“Sally?” Jack whispered.  “However did you get captured by Oogie?  How did you get down there?  You never finished telling me.” 

He felt her eyelashes tickle his ribs.  Yawning, she told him all he'd asked to know.  Her small fingers caressed Jack's collar bone as they spoke, sliding into the soft spaces between his bones.  When she'd finished, Jack found himself shaken for the second time that night.  He turned in her arms, scooting down the bed until their noses almost touched.

 “If your plan had worked perfectly, Sally, if it had gone as well as it possibly could have, you would have lost your leg!  You might even have lost your hands!”

 “I don't think I would have lost my hands.” Sally said with a frown.  “You haven't seen them on their own, but my hands are very capable.  They stood a good chance of getting away.”

 “Sally, still...  Your leg.” said Jack.  “And without it, the rest of you would have been in great danger.  The trio would have found you.  They'd have taken you to Oogie.  You couldn't have gotten away, even if Santa Claus did.” 

 His voice faded at the last word.  He'd watched Sally's face as he talked, expecting, maybe hoping, for the light of cold realization, but there was only a solemn acknowledgment.  It was patently clear she knew what she'd risked.  She'd chosen to do it anyway.  Sensing his unease, Sally leaned up on her elbows. 

 “Jack.” she said.  She no longer whispered, but her normal speaking voice was barely louder.  “I couldn't just let you be hurt, or lost, in the human world.  Even putting aside my feelings for you,  Halloween would have been destroyed, not to mention Christmas.  How could I have done nothing, Jack?”

 Jack touched his skull to her forehead.  “I understand, Sally.  But you risked...”

“Everything?” she said quickly, finishing his sentence.  “I know it, Jack.” 

“Everything, yes.” Jack repeated quietly.  The note of defiance in Sally's last sentence would have made him smile, had they not been talking about trials she'd endured righting his mess.  “You keep humbling me, Sally.” he said, mournful.  “Think any harder about all the disaster I caused, and you might decide I'm hardly worth the trouble.”

 Sally rolled her eyes.  Jack pushed on, smoothing a tendril of her hair.

“I'm quite serious!  How can one fix such a thing?  How can I ever hope to cast such a pall off of myself?”  

“You owe me sooo many of these...” Sally said, pressing her mouth to his.  “Tons.”  She kissed him again. 

“Ah!  I see.” Jack laughed.  “And things like this too, I'd imagine?”  He slipped his long arms around her, pulling Sally to lie on top of him.

“Mmhm.” she breathed, surfacing from another kiss.  “Maybe things like that could count for a little more than just a kiss...but not too much.  It will still take you decades to pay off.  Centuries.  I certainly can't leave, Jack.”

“No. I suppose you can't.” said Jack.  His signature grin spread across his skull and he exhaled a happy sigh.  “Ooh, whatever shall I do?”    


	19. Poverty and Wealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was posted previously on the pit, as a short stand-alone story.

**Poverty**

Money hadn't so much as flickered in Sally's brain. She sat in the town square, easing red woolen fabric under the needle of her sewing machine, thinking of nothing more than how the color burned her eyes if she stared at it for too long. Not far from her workspace, the Mayor circulated through the townsfolk, clipboard in hand. He was followed by the small mummy child, carrying a drawstring pouch. It wasn't until the corpulent official stood right before her, that Sally realized what was happening. Payday. She'd never before done anything for the town, or holiday, that would earn her an income of her own, but here it was: The one and only potential benefit to making Jack's Sandy Claws costume.

"Sally...Sally... Yes, here we are..." The Mayor mumbled to himself, scribbling on his list. The linen-wrapped boy by his side rummaged in the pouch, extracting a single golden coin. He placed it on the edge of Sally's machine with a firm "clack".

Sally had never in her short existence possessed one of those coins. It shimmered against the dark wood of the sewing machine table, glowing like a tiny sun. The image of a pumpkin adorned the coin's surface, its curling vines framing the circumference. Sally imagined how it would feel in her hand: Heavy and cool, with the possibility of more than one actual, full meal. She'd been practically starving since she left the doctor. Or, a coin like that could be one full meal, and one bolt of warm fabric. The thought of being not only fed, but warm too, felt close to absurd fantasy. She'd barely had a real blanket, even before heading out on her own. The bustle of the town square reflected in distorted animations on the coin's surface, as Sally's mind continued to ponder. One full meal, one whole bolt of fabric, or perhaps one smaller meal, a few yards of fabric, and the tiny spool of silver thread she'd seen at the witches' shop. The last plan wasn't exactly practical. She was tempted to put it out of her brain immediately, but then, there were still two weeks until the holiday. She would get paid again, at least once, possibly twice. With all of the worry of Christmas, and the ever present gnawing of being entirely alone in the world, it would be lovely to have something small and special like a new spool of thread. Something delightful, serving no other purpose than to make her happy. She'd never had anything like that. Sally imagined sitting down to eat real food; food she didn't even prepare herself. While she ate, she would gaze at her spool of silver thread.

The garish red suit of Jack's would lead to no good, of that she remained certain, but at least there was this one possible windfall from the chore. She reached slowly toward the coin.

"Ah, just a moment, boy, hang back..." the Mayor said, adding another notation to his list. "This one goes to the Doctor. It follows, as Sally is his creation, of course."

"I'll take it home to him." Sally said quickly, her hand paused in mid-air above the coin.

"No Trouble, my girl! No trouble!" The Mayor said cheerfully, dismissing her offer. "We're headed over there presently, anyway. There's no need for you to trouble yourself, keeping track of it. Take care, now! Remember, Jack's counting on you!"

The mummy boy slid the coin back into the pouch, where it landed with a muffled jingle atop the others inside. The boy trotted away behind The Mayor, to the next name on the list.

Sally stared at the empty spot on her machine table for a full minute, before returning her attentions to Jack's red suit. Her stomach made a cold whirring noise behind her stitches, and she did her best to ignore it.

oOo

**Wealth**

Six year old Nicholas Skellington lay on the floor of his family's tower library, and concentrated on being as silent as possible. His mother was working with numbers at a small desk in the corner. She'd told him he could only stay if he didn't disturb her. Being silent; completely, stone, still, silent, was something of a game in itself. Eye sockets closed, Nicholas focused on the quick metallic clacks of his mother's adding machine. When the clacks finally paused for longer than a few seconds, he looked up. The Pumpkin Queen pushed the small device to the back of the desk, folding a length of its paper ribbon into a drawer.

"Are you finished?" Nicholas ventured.

"I am." she said.

"Why do you always have to do the numbers?" asked the skeletal boy, rising from the floor. He made his way to his mother's side and slumped his bones against her shoulder.

The better part of a decade earlier, a yet to be queen Sally passed the time one afternoon, making a three columned list: Wonderful. Terrible. Curious. Mere weeks after the night that changed everything, she'd awoken with the urge to see her new life plotted out before her. That urge, she thought, fell under the "curious" heading, or as she'd written it: "kuryus". Since the list was for her own eyes only, it hardly mattered if her reading and writing weren't yet as advanced as she might have liked. She knew what she meant, and that was all that mattered.

Naturally, most things fell easily into the wonderful catagory. Warmth was wonderful. Food was wonderful. Jack? Obviously, wonderful. And curious. He fit handily in both catagories. Love itself did the same, as did sex, feather pillows, and multiple hot water taps. Talking all night long was wonderful. All of the sudden attention in town qualified as curious, verging on terrible. Jack's house was curious, especially the way the tower would shift almost imperceptibly in strong winds. There were purely terrible things too: Town gossip topped that list, followed by insecurity. After ages praying for change, she now felt petrified by the very idea of it. After all, if change could sweep in overnight, turning everything to gold, it stood to reason that it could all disappear just as swiftly. Gold. That word lit uncomfortably in her brain. Curious.

Jack was wealthy. Unfathomably so, at least to Sally's mind. It stood to reason of course, he was the King of Halloween. He'd never known hunger, or spent a night huddled in a doorway. When Sally speculated about stocking the neglected pantry closet, he agreed wholeheartedly, producing a handful of sparkling coins from his suit pocket without a second thought. Misreading Sally's quiet astonishment, he quickly delved into a nearby cabinet for still more, before admitting with chagrin that he actually had no idea how much pantry essenitals cost, as he'd never paid it any mind. The kindly Mrs. Corpse gifted him with meals out of concern for his bachelor's existance, and naturally the town tavern always held a table. Though he spent and gave plenty, he didn't keep track, nor count a single coin. There was hardly a worry they might run out, and it wasn't as if he didn't have enough to fill his brain, what with Halloween planning, haunting inspirations, and candy inventories.

Thus it was, faced with her love's puzzling, yet somehow charming flightiness in this specific area, that Sally smiled and said gently: "Let me do this for you." And she did. While words were a ticklish challenge, she had a natural head for numbers and organization. In no time, she had Jack's accounts untangled, even if the amounts involved made her head swim now and again. She eventually grew accustomed to it.

"I keep track of the numbers because someone has to." Sally said lightly to her son. "You'll need to learn these things too, before too long."

"Dad doesn't do that stuff." said Nicholas.

"No, because I do it, but you're not always going to have me, you know. Someday you'll be out in the big world. You'd better be able to keep track of your own things, at least until you find someone clever to help you."

The boy made a gagging sound and slid down under the desk, as his mother laughed quietly.


	20. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic follows a longer story posted on the pit, called "The Pumpkin Queen's New Groove"

**Possession**

  

“So, something’s inside you, making you go crazy or something now?” Shock asked. She snapped her bubble gum, and the sound made Sally jump. The Pumpkin Queen rummaged in a box of holiday accoutrement. She’d found several such containers buried in a coat room in the town hall, and now attempted to inventory the contents.

 

“I don’t believe so...” Sally said slowly. She counted on her fingers, then made a note on the clipboard by her side. The brass spring-clip was shaped like a set of jagged teeth, biting the paper. “Did you hear that something was making me crazy?” she asked Shock. The girl shrugged.

 

“Some of the folks think something might have jumped inside you while you were away. Those things can happen in places like The Triangle. You know about that stuff, right, Sally? It makes a person act crazy. Well, not _crazy_ crazy - but weird, ‘cause someone else is driving, you know?”

 

“I haven’t acted weird.” said Sally, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully. “We’ve only been home a week, and it’s been so busy every day that I can’t imagine where one would even have the time to act strangely. I think I’d know if anything else was controlling me.” 

 

Shock snapped her gum again, considering whether or not she wanted to push onward. If she told Sally what she’d really heard, it could land her in a witch’s cauldron’s worth of hot water, maybe literally if things got around, and in Halloweentown, things always got around. On the other hand, her curiosity was slaying her.

 

“I heard you were kind of a bitch last night at the town meeting.” Shock blurted. The words popped out before she’d entirely decided whether or not they’d ought to.

 

Sally jerked upright. Her eyes filled with hurt for a fleeting moment, and Shock thought she was going to cry, but then the moment blew away and she returned her attention to the supply box.

 

“There are three preserved cats here.” Sally said quietly. “They’re ancient, but still. Poor things.” She clicked her tongue and noted something on the paper.

 

Shock crossed her legs under her purple skirt, waiting with unusual patience for further elaboration or comment. When nothing came, she scooted a little closer to her unlikely friend, and tried again. She didn’t want to start going to the town meetings, but if big stuff was starting to go down and no one felt like filling her in, she might just have to start. She was glad the boys weren’t with her. They’d surely have messed up this surgical level of gossip extraction.

 

“What’d you do?” she asked, her voice low.

 

Sally slid the clipboard into her lap and wrote in silence for a half minute, before speaking.

 

“Not a thing. I barely spoke at the meeting last night. What have you been told?”

 

“No one tells us anything. The boys and I just overheard stuff.” said Shock. “Some people are ticked at ya, that’s all. They usually just say you’re boring, or soppy, or whatever. And you are a little boring and soppy most of the time, but that’s kind of your thing. You surprised ‘em last night, whatever you did.”

 

“I didn’t do anything.” Sally repeated airily. “I only spoke once, the whole evening. Everyone was discussing the schedule for early October, and when Jack should check in on their last projects before Halloween. The Mayor expected Jack to stay up nearly all night, and then they want him up with the sun the next morning! They can’t expect that of him. I had to say something. I knew Jack wouldn’t, and this is how he gets threadbare and loses his focus. It isn’t fair to him.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s how he’s always done it, Sal.” Shock offered uneasily. Sally’s sudden change in demeanor clued her in to why there was talk of possible spiritual interference at play, though she doubted that theory herself.

 

“Yes, but that hasn’t always lead to the best outcome. Not for Jack, and not for Halloween.”

 

Sally removed a green glass eye from the box. She held it in her hand, rolling its cool smoothness across her palm. Her tone softened.

 

“I know that’s how it’s always been, but year after year, that will drive him mad. Everyone is so happy to have their Pumpkin King once more, after all that happened that Christmas, but they’ll push him back to that state if they work him all day and all night. If someone needs to make sure that doesn’t happen, let that be part of my job.”

 

“So you started a fight about this last night?” Shock pushed. “Is that why they think there’s some demon rattling around inside you?”

 

“I did not start a fight. Not at all.” Sally let the green eye roll off her fingertips into a small drawstring bag, which she placed back in the box before her.

 

end


	21. Reality

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this." said Jack jr., shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. His mother straightened his suit lapels and tie, then laid a hand against the side of his face.

"You are, and you'll be perfectly fine. I'll be right there. We'll all be right there."

The lanky prince swallowed and looked over his shoulder at his four siblings. They hung in the dining room doorway, wearing expressions as uncertain as his own. 

"Dad is coming back." he said, turning back to his mother. "Maybe soon. This could all be unnecessary."

"Of course he's coming back." said Sally, tilting her chin to look up at him. "We still need you to do this now, while we wait." She sighed, exhaling fatigue and faint exasperation. "I can do quite literally everything else, Jacky, and I have been. This the only thing I ask of you. Scaring is not what I do, but your father spent years teaching you. All of you." she added pointedly, in the direction of her other children. "Halloween will be here before we know it. If everyone knows one of our Pumpkin Princes is ready to steer the holiday until your father returns, they'll feel better. We all have jobs to do, Jacky. This is yours, at least for the present. We face things the way they are, not how we wish them to be. That's the only way anything gets better."

 

Jack Senior, the venerated Pumpkin King of Halloween, had been gone for more than eight long months. No one knew exactly where he was, or when he'd return. Sally had urged him not to go in the first place. She plead until her voice cracked in an argument unlike the mild squabbles that popped up on occasion in the more than two decades they'd been together. It was of no use, once Jack had his skull made up. He'd been invited on an adventure, and potential worries rolled off of his spine. His wife was well-meaning as always, but overly cautious in his estimation. He granted that her concerns were understandable, but then, this was hardly like the Christmas debacle of all those many years ago. He'd been entirely out of his element then, and foolish to ever assume otherwise. This was different. This was part of their own shadowy universe, peopled by creatures he could at least understand, if not always agree with. What's more, they'd reached out to him, asking for his expertise in leadership and diplomacy. It wasn't as if he were jumping into something uninvited. 

 

They lived in interesting times for monsters and ghouls. Events of magnitude were always happening somewhere at any given time. By comparison, Halloweentown was always quiet and predictable. "As a home should be." Jack often said, when one of his offspring lamented the lack of excitement. "It's wonderful to have a secure home awaiting your return, where ever one roams! And after all, you can always go looking for excitement when you want it."

 

As it happened, excitement came looking for Jack. The letter from a far flung acquaintance arrived by spectral courier one rainy morning. Sally well remembered the weight of the envelope in her fingertips as she received it. She remembered setting aside her teacup and the bothersome sound of her chair sliding against the kitchen floor as she stood to take the message to Jack. Recalling those details now, she wondered what would have happened if instead she'd simply tossed the envelope into the coal oven. Or instead, she thought, she should have slipped it into her pocket. She could have written a regretful response herself after Jack was asleep that night, sent the reply, and then tossed the letter into the fire. None of that mattered now. _We face things the way they are, not how we wish them to be._

 

"Mom?" Nicholas asked softly. Sally snapped from her thoughts. Jack jr. was gone, having slipped away to his room to practice for the town meeting. His twin now stood by her side, wringing his skeletal fingers. The movement caught Sally's gaze. He'd gotten that from her, somehow, though she couldn't remember the last time she'd fidgeted so herself.

"How do you know Dad's coming back?" Nicholas asked, more quietly still. Sally took his hands.

"Your father would never in a million years leave us for good. He's delayed somewhere, with something unforeseen, but he'll be home. He would never choose not to come back to us." 

"I know that much, mom."  said Nicholas. "You're right that he'd never choose to leave us for this long, if he had a choice. Dad loves us, and he loves Halloween, and he'd never want to be away like this for such a long time…soooo…" He looked at her expectantly, his eye sockets wide. His voice tapered off, coaxing her to finish a thought he couldn't put into words. 

"I know he's alive, Nicky." Sally supplied, sounding weary. 

"How? How are you so sure?" 

"I would feel it if he wasn't, and I would never keep something like that to myself."

 

 

oOo

 

 

"Oh, good morning." the small witch yawned. Her taller sister matched the greeting with a curt nod, as The Pumpkin Queen entered their dim shop. The pair worked over a bubbling pot. "More of the same?" inquired the taller sister, her eyes exchanging a look with her sister's through the steam. 

"Yes, please." Sally answered. "If you would."

"The forget-me-not varietal, as before?" the taller witch asked over her shoulder. Stepping to the wall, she reached between rows of bottles and canisters on a dusty shelf, withdrawing a dark amber glass vial. 

"I have the best luck with that kind." Sally said, placing three gold coins on the counter. The witch slid the them into her cash drawer. Pride kept her from picking into the details she most wanted to know. The sisters were darkly amused that first time Sally came to them for this particular ingredient. They'd long considered her a hopeful pretender to their kind. She wasn't a witch, or at least, not a real one, technically speaking. Among other things, she lacked the bloodline. She was sure enough adept at potions, but that usually wasn't sufficient to make up for a lack of breeding, at least once one moved past the simplest spells and formulas. They thought it sad, really. This was a slippery spell even for accomplished, true witches. If she'd have come back and asked for help, they would have deigned to give it a try themselves, at least for Jack's sake. She did in fact return to the shop soon after, but not for help. She came back for more of the forget-me-not, and she'd been back twice since.

 

"You know, we could scare up a larger jar. It would cost you a pretty penny, but you'll spend that much anyway, coming in again and again for these little ones."

"Thank you, but I shouldn't need them for that long. That's my hope, anyway."

"Hope springs eternal." the witch said with a gloomy shrug.

"Huh? What's that mean?" her sister asked, pausing to fan steam away with her hat.

"Who knows. Something humans say." the tall witch replied with a shrug. "But wishing doesn't make anything so, does it?" She returned her attention to Sally. "Anyway. You'll obviously share any news, I expect. I'm sure we won't have to ask."

"Of course." said Sally. She rolled the small bottle in her fingers.

 

oOo

 

Hours after every other Skellington in their strange tilted mansion had gone to bed, The Pumpkin Queen knelt beside the fireplace in the tower. She hated sitting so close to the flames, but she needed to warm water. Doing so in the kitchen or one of the bathrooms might have woken her children, and she couldn't risk interruption. Using an iron hook, she lifted a small pot from the hearth. She poured its contents to a bowl of cold water placed before her knees, handling the vessel with thick oven mitts. Reviewing steps in a heavy book placed to one side, she added several ingredients, finishing with the forget-me-not. She stirred until the mixture thickened to something much like egg whites. Eyes closed, she focused her thoughts, trying to clear everything but him from her crowded brain. As they had before, once thoughts of him bloomed, the rest made way. She slid her hands into the bowl, spreading them through the warmth. 

 

Worlds away, Jack Skellington jumped to attention, as her fingers touched his own. He felt it, just has he had several times now, as he wandered down dark highways searching for his path back. He dropped to his knees right where he stood, and closed his eye sockets.


	22. Fantasy

Fantasy

 

 

Shock was in trouble with her cohorts. They were so angry and frustrated with her that Barrel even held his breath until he swooned over backwards, hitting his head on the bathtub. “We are a trio!” Lock barked at her. “A trio! If you think you’re better than us, you’re wrong, you...you...stupid dummy head! And who said you could set all this mess up in our house? I keep tripping over your useless witchy junk!”

 

Her eyes followed Lock’s accusing finger point, and landed on an old dirty iron pot filled with noxious smelling liquid. A smaller pot rolled on its side nearby. Between the two, a scorched circle scarred the floorboards. Stained papers lay scattered about, shivering in the breeze from the open windows.

 

“Hey!” Shock spat back. “I am trying to figure some stuff out here, okay? And if I do, you two had better get way nicer to me, if you know what’s good for you! Once I get this stuff in my head, I’ll be able to do stuff you haven’t even dreamed of! I could make it way for fun for all of us, or maybe just fun for me, so you’d better leave me alone, Lock!”

 

Lock spun away from her, arms crossed over his chest. He punished her with silence for a mere three to five seconds, before grabbing the still-woozy Barrel by the arm, and muscling him toward their elevator basket.

 

“Well, you just stay here and do your boring old spells, Shock. We’re going to go have some real fun in town. Should we tell the witches you said ‘hi’? Maybe you should think about moving in with them!”

 

Barrel blew a raspberry in Shock’s direction as the boys descended out of the tree house, leaving Shock to her project. She flopped to the floor.

 

One drop witch’s blood.

 

Yuck, she thought. She’d tried it twice already, but perhaps the third time would prove lucky. Shock pulled off a black glove and examined her pale fingers. The index and middle fingers were already sore and purple from failed attempts. She stuck her left thumb out and jabbed it quickly with a hat pin, before she had a chance to talk herself out of it. Seconds later, a globe of purpley-red rose from the wound like a bead of venetian glass. Maybe, she thought, she just hadn’t gotten enough of it into the pot those last times. Instead of letting the drop fall as she had before, she lowered her thumb to just over the surface of the fetid brew, letting the blood droplet touch the liquid and pull away on its own. She gave her thumb a hopeful squeeze, just to be sure she’d extracted all she could. She sat back and watched. If all went as it was supposed to, she should have seen a reflection of the Town Square. She’d watched the old witches do this every so often. It was their way of keeping tabs on the human world. She even saw them watch a movie that way, late one night, after most everyone had stopped working. Oh, if only she could conjure a spell to watch movies, or to look around other worlds. What if she could see what was going on when the boys left without her? That would be worth all the sore fingers on both of her hands.

 

She was hopeful, but ultimately disappointed. Instead of clearing and creating a lens to the outside, the already murky brew released a dank cloud and darkened further. It looked like swamp sludge.

 

Shock sat back, sucking her pierced thumb. She reviewed all the reasons this might not work. It probably wasn’t warm enough. She’d gotten a good boil going earlier, but then the floor caught on fire, and she had to put that out. Yes, it was probably just not hot enough. And who knows if she measured as well as she should have? Maybe one had to be super accurate. She thought she was, but it was entirely possible that she’d tossed in a little too much of something, or a little too little of something else. And the pot. Maybe it wasn’t the right kind?

 

An irritating little voice heckled inside her brain: _You needed a drop of witch’s blood, and you’re not a true witch. You’re a trick-or-treater. You’re a forever little girl, playing in a witch’s costume. That’s why it didn’t work. That’s why it won’t work._


	23. Conceal

The smaller of the witch sisters felt a strange pang within her. An unpleasant and almost completely unfamiliar jolt. If she'd been forced to put a name to it, the closest she could come up with was guilt. She maybe, just possibly, felt a fraction, of a sliver, of a crumb, of guilt. And guilt simply couldn't be abided. Her kind weren't meant to feel guilt. Should guilt sneak in, regret usually followed. Regret was most certainly not allowed, nor admitted to. She breathed a pained sigh. Her sister tapped her shoulder sharply with a gnarled finger.

"Don't look so sour! We did what was best. How many witches do you think they need around here, eh? The spell book doesn't even matter, anyway. It'll keep her busy at least, what with the words arranging and rearranging themselves. They'll change every time she picks it up. Seeing how those three little ones use their free time, I'd say it's a public service to occupy them. We gave her a discount, too."

The two looked down across the square, where the small girl in the purple witch hat could be seen, hurrying away with a heavy volumne under her arm.

"I hope she doesn't go mad with the thing." the smaller witch said, inciting another dismissive snort.

"Well, if she's a real witch, she'll figure out how to still those words. If not, they wouldn't help her anyway. And if that's all it takes to make her go mad, then the girl has a long road ahead of her."

She did anyway, thought the smaller witch. Shock had a long road ahead, and who knows how long a road behind her. Who knew how old she or those boys were? No one knew.


	24. Reveal

  
The Pumpkin King exited the town hall at last, holding a small parcel cradled against his chest with one spidery hand. His other arm crossed his wife's shoulders. She held fast to an identical bundle.

"Should we put them in the pram for the walk home?" Jack asked. Sally shook her head.  
"I'm afraid they'll be cold, Jack. Let's just carry them. We can get the pram in the morning."  
"True enough." Jack agreed. He stopped mid-step, looking down at the witch child standing before him.  
"Oh! Hello, Shock!" he said.   
Lock and Barrel traded nervous glares. In their opinion, Jack was someone to avoid for the most part. He was the worst kind of scary. He was on the one hand genuninely friendly, polite, and slow to anger, yet on the other, he'd dispatched Oogie Boogie within minutes once he'd set his mind to do so. Yes, The Pumpkin King was best avoided, but here was Shock, instigating a conversation for no good reason.

"I want to see one of those new babies." she said plainly. Jack blinked his eye sockets at her. With an amiable smile, he lowered himself to one knee and gently peeled back a layer of the flannel blanket in his hand. Shock leaned forward on her toes.

The being inside the blanket was utterly strange. It was smaller still than its wrappings had suggested, and though Shock could discern a vague similarity to Jack, it looked less than half-formed to her way of thinking. The infant stirred as the night air touched it, and its tiny nostrils crinkled in disapproval. Jack pulled it back to his ribs quickly, looking suddenly nervous.  
"Heh. If he starts to cry, we'll spend the next hour quieting him." he said.

Shock backed away, unsure what to think of the thing she'd just seen.


	25. Reading

_Your Majesty,_

_As promised, here is a contribution to your collection. Romances with a touch more shadows than sun, more cinnamon than sugar. I'm ever so glad you enjoy such things. They prove a little off of the beaten path for many in my own town, and it makes me sad to see them unread on our library shelves. Books get lonely too, wouldn't you agree? Enjoy them. (I'm sure Jack will as well? Perhaps in a more indirect manner? I'm joking, of course, my lady. I can practically see you blushing lavender from here.)_

_All the Best,_   
_Eros, The King of Valentinetown._

  
Sally smiled, bringing a hand to her cheek. She clutched the rose-scented letter and selection of novels to her chest as if she were embracing them, and climbed away to the tower.

  
Nearly two hours later, Jack Skellington stood in the kitchen of the house, quietly stirring a stewpot on the stove.  
"Mom?" a young boy's called. "Moooom? Where are you, Mom?"  
Arthur, the family's youngest skeleton son popped around the kitchen doorframe. His round face reflected mild disappointment at finding only his father.  
"Where's Mom?" He held his left arm bent at the elbow and pressed to his chest.  
"Did you hurt yourself?" Jack asked with concern. The boy shook his skull.  
"I ripped my sleeve."  
Indeed he had. The cuff was torn free at the seam.  
"I got it caught on the cemetery gate. We were playing. Where's Mom? She can fix it, right?"  
"She can." Jack agreed. "But not just now. She's relaxing and I don't want to fetch her for this. You can ask Nicholas, if you want to. Your mother showed him how to mend things. If he's busy, leave it on her machine for later."  
The child sighed. Nicky could fix things, but he'd probably be grumpy about it.  
"Couldn't I ask Mom? She can do it so fast. I wouldn't bother her for long."  
"Nooo." Jack replied. He'd returned to stirring the pot on the stove burner. "Your mother is reading, and she hardly ever takes a real break. Let her be. She'll be down soon enough. You can ask her then."  
The boy slumped away, cradling his damaged sleeve with as much drama as he could manage. Jack chuckled.

He would have happily given Sally a peaceful evening to enjoy her books, even without any residual benefit for himself. She deserved a respite from holiday work, not to mention their children's unending wish lists. True, new books from Valentinetown did typically result in a blissful night ahead for him as well. _That is, however, completely beside the point_ , Jack told himself sternly.

He bit his forked tongue, lest the children come in and wonder why he was grinning so.


	26. Writing

**Writing**

 

"My handwriting isn't very good."  
"It's perfectly fine! Better than I could manage, and much neater than your brothers' "

The Fishgal was a green scaled creature who spent the majority of her time in the Halloweentown fountain. She had a another name, a real name. Unfortunately, she could think of no phonetic equivalent to tones spoken underwater by her own kind. She therefore had to settle for the descriptive but clumsy title which stuck to her from the first days she settled in Halloweentown.

Her native tongue was not the only thing to cause consternation on dry land. Thankfully, she'd found a friendly solution to another challenge.

"Are you sure you can't find these here? They sound like a Halloween thing." asked Hazel. The little girl sat on the ground beside the fountain, holding a pen and paper in her lap.

"The blood worms out in the human world are better! I would never have thought such a thing, but it's true! Last Halloween, I jumped out and scared a man with a fishing pole. He yelled and ran away, but he dropped a little container of bloodworms. Naturally, I ate them. I was astonished at how marvelous they were! I hope to secure some more, and that is why I've asked your help. Pens slip and slide in my fins, and wet paper never cooperates."

Hazel nodded in understanding and took dictation. She was very slow, but The Fishgal had been correct that the child's writing was neat, making easy for even an unworldly human mind to decipher. Her request was simple: More of those worms. Leave them by the lakeside where you were on Halloween evening.

"Will you send some money in here? For the worms?" asked Hazel.

"I suppose I will, for courtesy's sake. They don't use our money there, but our coins are much better looking. That's worth something, I'd say, at least some worms." The Fishgal answered. She disappeared for a second or two, then reemerged with a heavy coin. Hazel received the money and wiped the metal dry with her skirt, before dropping it into an envelope.

"But how will we send it?" Hazel asked. "The ghosts won't take a letter into the human world."  
  
"They'll take it as far as the cemetery." explained The Fishgal. "After that, I'm hoping some human might lend a hand. I know his dwelling place."

Another disappearance under the water, and she surfaced holding a soggy leather billfold. "See? He dropped this too. There's a card human people carry, in case they forget how to get home, or what they look like."

Hazel took the thing, examining it , as green water seemed from every edge.

"Gosh. That's weird. But, don't you think you should give this back to him too? Maybe he's lost now, since he doesn't have it. If you send this thing too, I'll bet he'd be so happy, he'd find the best worms for you."

"Oh, you are smart as anything, aren't you? A fine idea, Hazel. Only, let's help me by writing down that address first. I may need to find that worm man again."

Hazel nodded and went to work, carefully transcribing the address into her paper pad.

"And Hazel dear, if you wouldn't mind, could you?"

"I can hold onto it for you." Hazel agreed.

 

 


	27. Sing

 

**Sing**

Everyone had a song. Some had more than one. Halloweentown itself had a song that all its creatures could sing together. Christmastown had a song, as did each and every elf, and every snowy thing capable of raising a note. New songs bloomed every day, as occasions warranted. Songs made the universe move. They made the pumpkin sun rise and set, they lifted the moon, and spread the clouds. Songs were as necessary to life in the holiday worlds as air or water. They were vital as breath.

Jack and Sally lay face to face in the tower, eyes closed and noses nearly touching. Their fingers interlaced in the narrow space between them, and their lips moved in harmonic unison. It was Sally's song. Even with everything that had happened, perhaps the most astonishing surprise to Sally was that Jack knew her song. He'd joined her in the cemetery, singing her own melody. She was certain not even the doctor knew her song, and would never have imagined Jack took any notice of it at all. The fact that he not only knew it, but chose to bring it to her himself, was a quietly enormous offering in their world: an indelible display of faith and intention.


	28. Dance

 

**Dance**

For weeks, then months, there was nothing but frustration. Frustration eventually gave way to the near madness that often precedes losing all hope. He first felt her reach for him in one of those moments. He was a moth trapped in a jar, slamming against one side, then the other, in blind panic. He'd never been so lost. He'd never been lost at all, actually. It was in the depths of this turmoil that he felt her touch his hands. Her fingers took hold of his, and she pulled him. He followed as long as he could, until the sensation wavered and weakened, finally dissapating into nothing.

Jack continued in that direction, following the path on which she'd set him. Nearly a week later, he felt her again, and again he gladly accepted her lead. If he'd had a single soul to talk to, he imagined they might well ask how he could possibly know it was her. There was nothing to see, nor hear, and everyone knew the universe was full of cruel things who might want nothing more than to force him even farther from home. He entertained himself in the silence by deciding how he'd answer that query. He knew because he would recognize her touch anywhere. Decades of holding her hands and clasping her fingers in his left no doubt. The third time she reached for him, he could have sworn he smelled her. He almost cried at how badly he wanted to fall asleep with his nose buried in her hair. It was troubling, he thought, how many nights he'd taken for granted being able to do just that. She tugged his hands in a new direction, and he complied without question.

Months of this, before he at last found the path before him opening up, and the air began to feel familar. Halloweentown was nearly within sight. A sight he hadn't laid his eye sockets on for nearly a year.

It was only then that Jack felt his thoughts turn at last from the breathless relief of returning home, to the prospect of how much humble pie he'd soon need to ingest. He'd not felt so shamed since his ill-advised Christmas, those many years ago. Given the absurd length of his present absence, this epsiode was debateably worse. The rolling hills of his homeland rose around him at long last. Approaching the gate, Jack was grateful to possess a natural ability to slip unseen through the streets and alleyways to his own house. He'd need to talk to everyone eventually, of course. His poor children, The Mayor, all the creatures in town; he wanted to see each of them. He needed to apologize to every ghoulish soul, and to ask forgiveness for his misjudgement, but his wife needed to come first.

The hour was late, nearly midnight. He found her in their bedroom. Sally was seated at her small table desk beside the window, copying numbers into a ledger. She tapped at her adding machine every now and again, checking numbers worked in her head. Her eyes were tired. She wore a faded lavender chenille robe over her nightdress, and her hip-length hair was pulled back in a loose braid. She'd tickled his nose with the end of that braid countless times, as they lay in one another's arms. Jack found himself at a momentary loss. How to best proceed? Would she even be happy to see him? They'd not parted on the best of terms. At the time, he hadn't worried, seeing as how he expected to be back home to her in no more than a fortnight. Now nine, nearly ten months later, he stood silently in the shadow beside their wardrobe closet, his heart hammering inside his ribs. He took a deep breath, stealing himself to step out, but the breath itself caught her attention.

Sally jumped at the sound. She stared at him, her lips parted in shock. Jack took one tentative step in his wife's direction and she flew from the desk, catching him in an embrace. They pulled back after a time, touching their foreheads. Warm tears slid down Sally's stitched cheeks as she swallowed a hiccup. Her eyes were full of everything he both expected and dreaded. She was at once relieved and ecstatic, furious and depleated. The sight of her distress sent a sorrowful jab through Jack's bones.

  
"I am so sorry, my beloved." he whispered against her face. The words sounded silly to him, but he couldn't think of any that wouldn't. His wife rapped very softly on his shoulder with her fist.

  
"Oh, I deserve far worse than that." he said, stroking her back with his fingertips. Sally lay her head against his chest and closed her eyes.

  
"Yes, you do, Jack. But I'm so happy to have you again, I can't bear anything more."

  
"We have so much to talk about." Jack said. "I have so much to tell you, and so much to make up for. If I had an ounce more energy, I would talk to you until the sun rises, but my bones are so tired. I've been walking and walking... I've walked for months. Thank you, by the way, darling. Thank you."

He took her hand, relieved this time to feel the sure solidity of her. She squeezed his fingers, bringing them to her lips.

  
"I could sleep on the couch tonight." he offered. "If that would be best. I realize I need time to truly square things between us."

  
"Why would I want that?" Sally asked suddenly, lifting her head from his ribs and looking up.

  
"It's only that I know I've been so incredibly foolish, Sally. I only mean, I would understand if you prefer I make my amends before returning to your side. You have every reason to be angry."

  
"I certainly do, Jack, but I still love you dearly. If I didn't, why would it bother me so? If I keep you from being close, I'm only punishing myself too. I don't deserve that."

  
"Truer words were never spoken." Jack conceded quietly. He began to sing to her, and Sally laid her head back on his chest. She did not join in, as that was an intimacy she wasn't quite ready to return just yet. But they danced, swaying together to the sorrowful music of his voice, and he accepted that much as a tremendous start.


	29. Nurture

"Ooh, lumpling... I know how you feel, but I'm afraid we can't keep him. This isn't a baby rat, or a kitten."

 

Sally Skellington cradled the newborn human infant, holding him against a hot waterbottle she'd placed between the child and herself. He'd arrived in Halloweentown a mere hour earlier, too cold and too quiet, clutched in her panicked grandson's skeletal hands. The boy now sat by her side on the parlor couch, as younger grandchildren clustered around their feet, whispering and straining to see the "baby people".

 

"We could take care of him, grandmother." the boy said. "I'd do it myself, if no one else wanted to. I promise I would! I wouldn't let anything bad happen to him! He could grow up here!" Sally shhed him with a finger to her lips.

 

"Darling, you don't know how much work a baby is. You couldn't do it. He needs to live where other humans are. We'll keep him safe and warm for now, and when your grandfather comes home, I'll send him back out with this little one. There are places where they can help."

 

The boy slumped against the back of the parlor couch in despair. Sally touched his shoulder.  

 

 "This hasn't been an easy first Halloween out in the world for you, but do you want to go back and finish the night? I think you should. Go find your parents? Or your friends? I'll care for the baby until you're all home. I promise you can say goodbye before he leaves."

 

"But, why ever should we give him back?" the boy persisted. "I found him left outside. He was in a place where things are thrown away! They don't want him, so why can't he stay here? I know babies are hard, but you had five yourself, didn't you, grandmother?"

 

Sally sighed painfully. She caressed the baby's head, smiling wistfully to herself at how his lips moved in his sleep. She'd given him a warm bottle of syrup water upon his arrival, once she'd managed to shake off her own shock at seeing a human baby in Halloweentown. What kind of terrific sorrow or fear could move someone to leave him tossed away? She couldn't imagine. The thought it chilled and gnawed at her. The worst fear she could imagine was something happening to one of her children, but where was this baby's mother? The poor little thing would surely have died, had he been left in the elements much longer. 

 

Her grandson was right to do something, but Sally wished the boy had experience enough to take his find to a human place, instead of back home. He could have called forth his parents, or his grandfather, or just about anyone else out haunting. Any one of them surely would have helped, without question.

 

"Why can't he stay?" the boy tried again. "Grandmother? You look like you wish he could."

 

She truly did, despite herself. _Your own children are grown and have children of their own. With all of these grandchildren, what's one more little sprog in the mix? It's quite correct that you did manage five, and look how quickly that went, even with two at one time! They're all fine and exemplary in their own ways too, are they not? It's not even as if you aren't good at this! The little one could come up here, just as easily as in the human world. Probably even better. Would he feel strange or different? Possibly. But everyone in Halloweentown is different._

 

 Sally shook her head, touching the fingers of one hand to her temple. She did her best to dislodge the thoughts that pulled and poked at her, tempting her heart. 

 

"He can't be here, love." she whispered, turning to look at her grandson once more. "He'd become like us." 

 

"But, won't he anyway? Someday?"

 

"Yes, but it wouldn't be fair to him now. It would be one thing if he could make up his own mind, but we can't decide that for him." 

 

Conceding defeat, the boy became silent. Sally leaned close and kissed the side of his skull.

 

"Let's go upstairs. We can find him something nice to wear, and we'll get him all ready for when your grandfather comes home."


	30. Destroy

 

Note: Not a cross-over in the strictest sense of the term, but makes more sense if you have seen Clive Barker's Nightbreed, (or at least read the wiki synopsis...).

 

 

“I'll dry them.” said Jack, taking a wet dinner plate from his wife. 

“You don't have to. They'll dry on their own. Overnight.” sighed Sally.  She slid the plate back from Jack’s fingers, placing it between the loops of a metal spiral beside the sink basin.  Jack stood awkwardly by her side for a moment, before retreating to a chair.  Seated, he touched the paper bulletin on the table.  Fresh ink left a dull smear on his marble white fingertips.  

 

“I still don't understand how it happened.” said Sally.  “I don't understand how humans could get inside.”  Jack scanned the words again, then pushed the paper away.  Her back to her husband, Sally continued to rinse the dinner plates.             

 

“I don't know.” Jack said.  “I'd imagine more details will come forth over the next few days.  I grant you, it's puzzling.  Then again, Midian wasn't as well hidden as most places.  It wasn't as safe as Halloweentown, for example.”

 

He bit his forked tongue, wondering if he'd planted a worry which hadn't before existed.  But then, he knew her better than that.  The questions in Sally's head had been obvious as soon as they'd read what happened.  She turned from the sink.           

 

“Jack, you've said before that most people in Midian were very dangerous to humans.  More so than anyone here.”

 

“True.” said Jack, uneasy.  

 

“Even so, they couldn't win?  Now Midian is simply gone?”

 

Her words floated in the air, uncomfortable and alone, for two long seconds. Jack took a pause to straighten his suit lapels while he weighed a response.  Plunging back into their conversation, he slid easily from his private household self into a Jack more at home on the town hall stage, fielding questions at a holiday meeting.  Good sense said it was folly to try this with her, but he decided it was worth a go.  Smiling, he popped up from the table, and crossed the kitchen in two easy steps to give his wife a reassuring pat on the shoulder.    

 

“There's more to it, Sally, surely there is!  Why, they'd almost been expecting such a thing in Midian!  They've talked about it for eons!  There were always rumors, rumblings about the end of it all...  Moreover, one can barely say Midian and Halloweentown in the same sentence. That’s how little we have in common, quite truly!”  

 

“I wouldn't say that.” said Sally, shaking her head.  “They had to be something like us, somehow.  They were dark things. They had a place of their own. They had children.”

 

“...which got away!” Jack finished. “The children got away!  At least - it sounds that way.”  His voice faltered. Sally had punctured his bravado with her mention of Midian's children.  She turned back to the chipped sink.  A purple spider dropped from the shelf above, gliding down a web string to the tap.  Sally caught it on her finger.  She stood quietly, watching the eight delicate legs navigate the terrain of her wedding band.  Jack placed his hands on her shoulders again, more tenderly than before.  He wanted to say something comforting.  Something like _Please don't worry, Sally!  We're both sad for Midian, but don't be worried!  We are immeasurably safe here in Halloweentown!  Safe as mausoleums!  Safe as midnight!  Safe as milk! Safe as....as... whatever you'd like!”_ He made a small noise, the beginning of a thought - but stopped.  With no further words coming, he kissed the top of her head.  Sally placed her hand beside the sink ledge letting the spider crawl away, then turned to her husband.  She pressed her face into Jack's chest, closing her eyes while he slid his fingers through her hair.

 

 


	31. Daughter

_Hey all. SOOO sorry I've gone so long without posting. I'm pregnant at the moment and I've been so tangled up with everything there, that I haven't had time to do much extra. But, here is another chapter, and I have another one almost ready to post later. I know the formatting is off, Ao3 has some known issues with that right now._

 

 

There were all manner of peculiar creatures in Halloweentown. They were everywhere an eye could rest.

This was not to mention all of the odd beings Sally observed elsewhere in their universe, in her travels

since becoming The Pumpkin Queen. Nevertheless, none of them, not a single one, was as overwhelming

to her sensibilities as Hazel.

 

Hazel's gestation was far different from those of her four brothers, even the twins. Taking after their

father, the boys were skeletal wisps, strong but slight, with only their round white skulls to slow entry

into the world. They fluttered and flickered inside their mother like fireflies. Hazel, though not

abnormally large as infants go, felt like a cannonball in comparison. Sally wondered just how many

children were inside over those months. Certainly more than two. Three? Four? More than that? She lay

on the parlor sofa, puzzling how exactly one fed more than two babies. The fact that only a single heart

could be heard fightened her still more, as there seemed no joyful answer to be found there.

 

The whole Skellington family gaped in astonishment once Hazel emerged, round and fully fleshed, eyes

blinking and wet. Jack laughed, delighted. "She looks like your mother!" he exclaimed to the younger

skeleton boys at his side. They looked to one another baffled, too surprised at the new arrival to disagree.

 

A decade later, Hazel was no longer strange to her siblings, at least not in the sense of her very

existance being a wonderment. She was their sister, another voice in the family chorus. Jack too simply

loved her as his daughter, and youngest offspring, but was hardly surprised when she came down

the stairs each morning with her brothers.

 

To Sally however, Hazel never ceased to be an astonishment. She was a vision on par with the streamers

of color that danced across the Christmastown sky at night. She sat at the kitchen table, kicking her feet

and twirling her red hair, as if she was every bit as explicable as the skeletal boy seated beside her.

 

Some days, Sally had to swallow a tickled laugh at the sight. The pair grumbled at one another over some

percieved offense. Hazel's brother tugged at her shoulder. She gave him a peevish shove with her neatly

stitched hand, and stuck out her forked tongue.


	32. Mother

Sitting alone in the empty treehouse, Shock gave in to something she rarely indulged:

she cried. She sat on her lopsided bed, laid her face in her hands, and cried. She'd

chased the boys out again in an effort to practice spells from her new book. Even with

silence and room to contemplate, nothing worked. Nothing. Not a single thing. She felt

like pulling out fistfuls of her green curls. She yelled, kicking the heavy spell book away

across the floorboards.

 

"Why don't you go find someone who can help you make that

stuff work, stupid? Instead of sitting up here bawling all over it..."

 

Lock climbed up through the elevator hatch. Over her own misery, Shock hadn't heard him coming.

Brusque though his words were, She felt the concern behind them. It was something

anyone outside their threesome wouldn't have understood. She wiped her wet nose with

the back of her glove.

 

"Who, dumbass? I am not going back to those old witches! Not

until I get this going on my own, then I'll show them."

 

"What about the fish lady?" asked Barrel, as Lock pulled him out of the elevator cage by his legs.

Shock scoffed. 

 

"What would she know? She's no witch."

 

"She's pals with them. She might know something." Lock countered with a shrug.

 

Shock puffed the hair out of her face.

 

oOo

 

"Whatever do you need?"

 

The scaled creature known around Halloweentown only as The Fishgal asked. Her deep

voice was languid and sleepy as she hung over the edge of the fountain, peering down at

Shock.

 

"Nothing much. It's just, I bought this book from the witches, and I can't make it work.

I thought since you talk to them a lot, you might be able to help."

 

Watery orange eyes took in

the worn leather tome in the girl's hands.

 

"Help how?" The Fishgal asked. "The sisters are in their shop, as always. Why not just ask them

for assistance? I'm not a witch, afterall."

 

Shock's thin shoulders slumped. She stared off across the square, biting at the fingers of her glove.

 

"You can't talk to them?" The Fishgal nudged. "Or you don't want to?"

 

"I'd rather figure it out myself. Thanks for nothing." Shock sighed.

 

She hefted the cumbersome book under her arm and began to trudge

away, when the sea creature's voice called back to her.

 

"Here, just a moment, silly girl! I can't touch the paper with my wet scales, but open it up and at

least let me have a look."

 

Stepping back, Shock obliged, holding the book up open before the fountain's rim. The Fishgal

murmured a soft sound, the noise someone would make if they found something interesting

lodged between the parlor sofa cushions. She laughed. Laughter aimed in her direction prickled

Shock to no end.

 

"Like I said, thanks for nothing!" she spat. "Oh, now, now. You want to fix this, do you not? If you're

ready to move on already, I'll go back underwater and leave you be, but if you want help, I could

give you a push in the right direction."

 

Shock squeezed the book closed against her chest. Her scowl

remained, but she moved closer. The Fishgal cast a glance to either side, assuring they were alone.

 

 

"You’re friends with Jack's wife, aren't you?" she asked. "I believe I heard something about that,

though the idea certainly sounded strange to me."

 

Shock's shoulders lifted and dropped.

 

"This book has a charm on it. If you think yourself a witch, you should have been able to figure that much out on

your own - but that's an entirely different problem. Anyway, nothing inside will work as you see it.

You'll need to get the witches to take the charm off. Casting spells still may not work for you, but there

would at least be some chance of success."

 

"What's that got to do with Sally?" asked Shock.

 

"Well, you need something to trade to the witches! If they wanted you to have the book unbound, 

they could have  given it to you that way. They're having fun at your expense. How will you get them to 

help? Asking nicely won't be enough. I'm not sure you can be that nice, besides. But Jack's wife has

something they dearly want. Don't you want to know what I know?" Something in the creature's lowered 

voice made Shock swallow. She nodded, pressing closer still against the lip of the fountain. Spray speckled her

nose and beaded in her hair.

 

oOo

 

Crazy.

Crazy-time.

Crazy-sauce.

_I don't know if I even want to be a real witch when I hear stuff like this._ Shock thought to herself.

Crazy, and gross, gross, gross.

 

Witch spells, real ones, weren't all words and atmosphere. It was a lesson Shock was learning the

hard way, what with wondering if her own blood was special enough to fulfill a requirement for

"witch's blood" or if a single green corkscrew curl could fool whatever fates governed magic into

accepting it as hair from a seventh daughter's seventh daughter. She had nothing to lose trying,

apart from a little hair. Blood, tears, hair, even a tooth or a whole fingernail... At least those things

were free, and most everyone had them. It was merely a question of how much one was willing to do.

That wasn't even going into all the other ingredients that true witches managed to procure. A frog's

eye, a dead poet's tongue, or a scale from a dragon's right hind leg, could all be had for a price. Good

spells brought good income, which in turn bought better ingredients. Better ingredients lead to even

better spells. So it went. Magic worked just like anything and everything else in the world, thought Shock.

 

 

According to The Fishgal, there was something the witch sisters of Halloweentown wanted, but couldn't

buy, and were too filled with pride to ask for themselves. Shock wasn't thrilled with the prospect of asking

either. _Gross_ , she thought again.

 

Crazy and gross or not, her feet carried her decisively from the fountain,

to the gate of the Skellington home. It was as good a time as any, and better than most. Jack wasn't home.

She could hear his distinctive laughter coming from a group of townsfolk near the hall. Sally had been in

her sewing area most of the morning, but when afternoon approached, she returned inside. Carting the

uncooperative spell book with her, Shock climbed the stairs to the front door.

 

Shock and Sally Skellington had indeed become friends, in their own way. If asked, Shock wouldn't

have said anything warmer than that. She wasn't at all used to having any friends other than Lock and Barrel

in the first place. In the second place, were she to start picking new friends, Sally couldn't have been a more

unlikely choice. Jack frequently referred to her as his "beloved", which made Shock and boys gag when his

back was turned. Sally also had twin babies to occupy her, and they required more ridiculous fussing,

cleaning, comforting, and feeding than anything Shock could have imagined prior to observing them.

Sally was not optimal friend material, yet somehow, she was one anyway.

 

She answered the door wearing a dark gray woolen dress with two black felt cat faces on the front pockets.

"Hey." Shock said lightly.

 

oOo

 

The Skellington kitchen smelled like cinnamon and apples, intermingled with the scent of the drying leaves

and flowers Sally had hanging about the room. Something bubbled in a large pot on the coal stove, and a

smaller pot on the rear burner simmered in unison. The twins were confined to a square enclosure in the

center of the room, where they rolled small toys back and forth. Upon seeing their mother return, one of

them pointed and burbled melodically to the other, who answered in turn.

 

Shock clambered onto a chair. Sally poured a cup of something and pressed it toward her. 

 

"What is it?" Shock asked. 

"Hot chocolate."  Sally replied. "It's divinity. Santa Claus sent it to us."

"Who? Sandy Claws?"

" _Santa Claus_."

"Oh. He sent this stuff to Jack?" Shock inhaled over the cup. The thick chocolate scent caressed her nostrils.

"Yes. Well, he sent it to me, actually." Sally clarified. "But of course I gave some to Jack. What is this you’ve

brought, Shock? It is a potion book?"

 

After several minutes of introduction, Shock finally wound the narrative of her frustration and defeat 

around to the events of that morning. Sally listened patiently from across the table, her chin resting on her

hand.

 

"The Fishgal says you could help me get the witches to fix this book, because you have something

they need for a spell." Shock ventured, steeling herself with a swig of the chocolate.

 

After a beat, the light

of recognition bloomed on Sally's face, followed by something best described as a swirl of amusement

and annoyance, twisted together.

 

"Oh, for goodness sake." she sighed. "Again? Why will they not just ask me themselves? They're being 

so silly, really." 

 

"You already know? I can't believe you don't think this is disgusting!" Shock groaned. She took a longer

sip from her mug. Sally was correct that this stuff from Sandy... Santa, whichever - was indeed divinity.

 

Sally’s gaze fell on her sons. They explored one another's hands as she spoke. 

 

"I do realize that after everything, it can't be easy for the witches to need something from me, of all

people. But what can they do? No one else in town has babies just now. Whoever knows when someone 

will again. I wouldn't say no, if they'd just come out and ask instead of talking about it where I can’t hear.

Maybe they knew someone would say something, and then they wouldn't have to ask. I would

have given it to them before next Halloween anyway, whether they asked or not. It's very important to their spell

for children's nightmares. The witch sisters do a great deal of work on dreams, mostly on Halloween, of course,

but all year too. Jack constantly reminds them that the dreams can't be too terrible! It's good to get children used

to a little fear, but not too much. Anyway, it's tedious hard work diluting the dream potion over and over. If you

don’t weaken it enough, the children wake up screaming, and have no fun at all. Too much, and it stops

working entirely."

 

"So what's this got to do with anything?" Shock asked, a little surprised by her own genuine

curiousity.

 

"Six drops of mother's milk tempers the mix easily, with no further work." Sally explained. "Still

spooky, but not enough to cause harm, or to stick in their brains for days after. Add lavender too, and they'll

even fall back asleep without a cry. I'm not sure the witches even know about that last part. You could be the

one to tell them."

 

"How do you know all this? Did they tell Jack to ask you?" Shock inquired. Sally topped off her

guest's cup from a metal pitcher.

 

"Goodness no. They wouldn't say anything to Jack. They'd never want him, of

all people, to know there was something they couldn't figure out. Besides, witches can be funny about

discussing these things with men, even a man like Jack. That's understandable, I think. As to my part, I just know

potions." She finished with a shrug.

 

"Huh. I guess you would." Shock said. "You'll help me, then?"

 

oOo


	33. Sister

“You should talk to her now and again.” the taller witch sister said to Sally. She nodded toward the dirty window beside them. Outside, the

doctor’s new creation wheeled him past in silence. Sally gave no response, apart from a puzzled, rather helpless, look. Her fingers fumbled with

the coins she’d placed on the shop counter seconds before.

 

“You’re too good for your sister?” the witch asked with a shrug.

 

“No, of course not. But, she isn’t even my...” Sally looked away, her hand leaving the coins to fuss nervously in the air.

 

“Your sister? Of course she is. How would you figure otherwise?” The old women waited only a few seconds for an answer, before exhaling an

irritated huff and sweeping Sally’s change into the drawer. She shoved an envelope of thyme towards the younger woman, in exchange.

 

“Surprised you can’t manage to grow that yourself.” she remarked. “We’ve heard your such a marvel with such things.”

 

“I can. That is, I could. I hope to. It’s only, I’m moving my garden. I haven’t made everything the way I’d like it yet, but Jack has a cold...”

 

Sally’s soft voice faded, before rising again to thank the witch her help. She’d sold her the thyme after all, despite being chilly and clipped for the

duration of their interaction. Sally turned to leave, walking carefully toward the arched doorway which lead back to the square.

 

“It would do you some good.” the witch said, just as Sally’s hand touched the latch. “To talk to your sister. Not everyday, but once in a while.”

 

“I don’t know that I can do that.” Sally answered.

 

“Eh, maybe not for a while, with everything so raw. That could be true. But having a man isn’t everything, you know. They get bored with big

eyed girls at some point, and you’d hate to end up with no one to talk to. My sister is an annoyance, wrapped in an irritation, but I talk to her

each day, just the same.”

 

“I see.” Sally answered, nodding. She said thank you one more time, before skittering out of the shop.

 

“Silly thing.” the witch said to herself, once she was alone. She made a mental memo to laugh about the encounter later, once her sister returned

from delivery errands.


	34. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hellloooooo, out there. Well, it's been a million years (or feels like it...) since I added to this anthology. I last updated in July, then I had a baby in August. So...finally trying to get back to this. Here's Mrs. Corpse chapter, because I haven't done many of those. The last time I posted here, the formatting came out all wonky. I hope this one shows up okay.

Mrs. Corpse remembered Mrs. Courtland well enough, though she rarely came up in conversation anymore. She was remembered as an ordinary woman, doing her best. She lived in a small, brick, semi-detached house, in a cluttered but pleasant working-class neighborhood. The house was two streets over from the train tracks. When a train went by, the dishes in the china closet would chatter amongst one another until it passed. There was a shop on the corner with ice-cream, candy, and newspapers. On the odd occasion that shop was mentioned, Mrs. Courtland was fond of talking about how the place always smelled of fresh newsprint and bubble gum. She wondered how many hundreds of times she crossed its doorstep from girlhood on. 

Mrs. Courtland spent most days sitting at the table in her back kitchen, drinking coffee and looking out the window. Sometimes, she’d watch her neighbors walk down the street. They pushed babies in prams, and pulled dogs on leashes. The children walked to the corner to meet the school bus. People heading to their jobs walked to the city bus stop. The later it was, the more of them seemed to check their watches every other stride. They all had somewhere to be.

Hardly anyone came over to Mrs. Courtland’s for coffee or cakes, or to keep her company while she folded laundry. In nice weather, the neighborhood women would chat across the chainlink fence tops where their backyards met. Someone usually had a radio on, either playing music, stories, or whatever Mr. Eisenhower had to say that week. If she’d invited them inside, they probably would have said yes. They all seemed to like her okay. There was just always something. The last time her little Ethan had played with Jeanette’s son Freddie, Freddie had up and smacked Ethan across the nose with a toy shovel. It was the sort of thing little children do, but Ethan screamed, and his nose bled all over his shirt... When Lena came in for coffee, she refused all snacks on offer, subtly suggesting that perhaps they could go for walks together in the future. “Wouldn’t it be healthier?” she’d asked. “Wouldn’t you be happier?” Walking with a friend while Mr. Courtland was busy in the shoe store all day actually sounded nice enough on the surface, but Mrs. Courtland hardly wanted to be someone else’s project. She didn’t invite Lena again, and instead enjoyed an extra raspberry danish in her honor.

There was an attractive, neat as a pin, young blonde woman who lived in the red house adjacent to the Courtlands. Mrs. Corpse remembered her face, but couldn’t recall the woman’s name. Donna? Something like that. Debra? Denise? It was on the tip of her tongue, but wouldn’t come out. Though the name remained elusive, she could picture her just the same. Very young, Blonde Woman always looked just so, wearing dresses with tiny clipped waists and pretty skirts. They were like the ones women wore on television. None of those television moms wore housedresses or shifts like regular neighborhood women hanging laundry, cooking dinner, or watching soap operas while they folded shirts. Rumor had it that Blonde Woman didn’t do most of those things either. She had people come to her house, to cook and clean for her. Mrs. Courtland used to lay her hand across her cheek and say “I can’t imagine!” whenever the subject came up over the chainlink fence tops. 

She wondered if Blonde Woman was bored all day, or if she had exciting pastimes to while away the hours she didn’t spend running her house. Hardly anyone talked to her. She wouldn’t be in the neighborhood for long anyway. Her father owned the house she lived in with her new husband. They were only there until they found something better, probably out in the new subdivisions. “Something more suitable for raising a family.” Blonde woman’s husband said to Mr. Courtland one morning, as they made small talk in the bus shelter. Any lack of social grace evident in declaring one’s community unsuitable, while talking to someone currently raising a family in said community, was apparently lost on Mr. Blonde Woman’s husband. 

That Thursday -The Thursday - Mrs. Courtland gazed through the back window at Blonde Woman sitting alone on her back steps. Her pale yellow skirt was folded neatly around her legs. She wore white leather flats, a thin gold bracelet, and a clean white cardigan sweater. She looked as if her hair had just been done, but her face was blotchy and red. Ethan skipped in circles in the Courtland’s tiny backyard. Sometimes he’d pause to toss pebbles or old leaves into an empty cement planter. Mrs. Courtland turned her attention away for a moment to pour another cup of coffee. When she looked back, Blonde Woman was making silly faces across the blacktop at Ethan. He doubled over in giggles, before sending a face back to her. The sticky redness started to disappear from her face. She fanned her fingers apart like antlers, sticking her thumbs against her ears. She stuck out her tongue. Ethan laughed again, before conjuring a new face in reciprocation. 

Mrs. Courtland eyed her nearly empty coffee perculator. She wondered quite suddenly if Blonde Woman would want to come over and have some coffee. What would they talk about? Surely there had to be something. Mrs. Courtland rose from the table, ready to call out the door, when she remembered. Her husband had asked her to run by the shoe store and pick him up before three. They needed to get to the bank before close. She’d nearly forgotten all about it, but they could make it if they hurried. She decided right then to run by the bakery on the way home as well. She’d fetch something to have with coffee. She leaned out the screen door.

“Ethan, come in! We’re late, dear! Need to get Daddy and run to the bank, as quick as we can!”

Blonde woman looked at her with uncertainty, then they smiled at one another. The younger woman held up a hand in greeting. 

“Coffee tomorrow?” Mrs. Courtand asked. “If you’re around, that is.”

“I’d like that!” was the response. “I’m always around!”

Mrs. Courtland nodded. She could see Blond woman’s eyes still looked red, but less than before. 

Mrs. Corpse remembered the calendar, just as it looked that very moment. It was the last day she saw it, that free calendar from Township Electric, hanging on a thumbtack on the kitchen wall. It displayed square after empty square, marching in rows, and standing on each other’s heads. Nothing going on. She slipped a ballpoint pen from the cup on the side table, and wrote “Coffee?” on the next day’s square before heading out with her son.


	35. Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows "Ends" from chapter 1.

Sally rested her face in her hand, her mind racing furiously to solve the immense problem at hand. Though she sat at the window in her bedroom, she could hear the ornate grandfather clock in the downstairs hall. Each tick echoed up the stairs, reverberating off of the dark wood bannisters and beams. She’d never before noticed how loud that old clock was, not in all the many decades she’d lived in the house.

Outside the window, far below in the square, two of her great grandchildren tossed an orange ball with their friends. The clock ticks stabbed into her head like icicles. The quarter hour chimes would come soon. and she feared they would explode in her ears.

Long ago, much longer than it now felt to her, she remembered how much she’d hated the witch sisters. They’d felt the same about her, there was no attempt to hide it. The girl she’d been would have said it was all about Jack. It took her years to recognize that if it was about Jack at all, he was but an ingredient. The source of the conflict was power. Nothing more, nothing less. Jack’s love conferred it upon her, at least in a way the townsfolk could recognize and discuss. Boiled down, simplified, it was all about power.

The doctor. The infuriating, controlling, manipulative, old man, with whom she’d begun her life. She’d felt hated there, a face that only furthered confusion in her young mind. If he hated her so, why did he insist she stay? If she was all that he said, clumsy, stupid, foolish... Why would he resort to locking her away in her room to keep her from leaving? None of it made much sense to her back then. It hadn’t made sense, and she’d exerted little effort to decode it. There was too much to untangle. She only knew that she had to go. Not long afterward, she’d acquiesced to having him examine the newborn babies. The doctor who’d delivered them, a kindly man on loan from Christmastown of all places, knew nothing of monster children. She took them to the old man across the square to ensure their well-being. He looked lost to her that day. Competent, yes, but adrift at the existence of the offspring, never mind that she’d somehow survived bringing them forth.

Pressing her fingers to her cheeks, Sally focused more intently on her family in the square. They worked and played, moved across the stones and back, calling out to one another, or to the other people around them. Everyone, even her dear husband, stood oblivious to the events of her afternoon. Of all she knew, one truth stood apart. It lingered, as if under a shaft of light, pleased to have finally been recognized. The only real enemy was time.


	36. Strangers

NOTE: Fits during the time period of the earlier chapter: "Reality" 

 

“Where did you get that?” Sally asked, blinking at the delicate teacup and saucer in the Valentine King’s hand. Eros sat beside her on a weathered bench. His pale wings were folded behind his shoulders. A twist of steam rose from the cup.

“The tea?” he asked, responding to her question. “It must have come from you. It’s your dream, after all. You’re hospitable even in your sleep, my lady. You should have conjured one for yourself too. Then again, one month until Halloween, and Jack still gone, I’d imagine you could use something stronger.”

Sally sighed. A vast expanse of gray sea spread before them. Loose feathers on Eros’ wings trembled as a breeze swept across the water.

“Is this someplace you’ve been?” Eros asked, looking around.

“I don’t think so.” Sally replied. “I suppose it’s just something my brain put together.”

“Ah. That does make sense. It’s very... _’mournful-chic’_. I’m not making light, darling. I know you’re hardly in the mood for a party.”

“I’m so tired.” Sally said. “I won’t get a good night’s sleep if I’m dreaming like this. Maybe I should have made myself something to calm my worries.”

“I’m quite glad you didn’t.” Eros said with a shrug. “We wouldn’t be able to chat then, and I do so miss seeing you. I understand you can’t visit right now. Nevertheless, we have dreams.”

Sally nodded. Eros was correct that she couldn’t visit him in his town at the present. It was a romantic place, indeed, _the_ romantic place. She and Jack very much liked the occasional trip to Valentine Town together. Going by herself however, especially with her heart so troubled and sad, would not have been wise. The atmosphere of the place would plunge her into a deeper hole than that in which she already dwelled.

“Why couldn’t he listen to me?” she blurted. “Why, why, why, must he always jump into these wild ideas, even when I tell him to be careful?”

“To be fair, it’s really only the second time of consequence.” Eros observed. “True, true, that hardly makes you feel better. I suppose I’m only trying to fight his corner a bit since he isn’t here. And anyway, isn’t that part of why you love him so? No need to answer. I know what I know.”

Sally frowned, twisting her fingers together in her lap. Eros was correct that there was no need to answer, and that was some comfort in itself. Possibly that was why her dream decided to place him there, by her side. Someone who didn’t need to be told anything, because they already knew.

“He’s okay, love. He is.” the Valentine leader said. He rested his soft hand on Sally’s leg. She wore a dark blue and gray patchwork dress. She wondered absently why her thoughts had chosen this dress, among the several she owned. Perhaps there was no reason for it, beyond some random recollection. Just like the gray sand, the old bench, and the water. Dreams were strange. Her visions were clear and hard. They often gave their information with all the subtlety of a hard slap. Dreams by contrast were hazy and slow. She never knew if she were supposed to take something from them, of if they were just collections of stray thoughts, meandering aimlessly until she awoke.

“Sally, darling? Do you know that?” Eros repeated. “I said that I know your Jack is okay.”

“I know that too.” Sally answered, turning to meet his gaze. “I know Jack will come home. I’ve been trying to help him.”

“Good. So then you know that he very much wants to come home. I was concerned that perchance you didn’t realize that. I couldn’t let you think such a thing. He’s brash and occasionally lacking in forethought, your husband, but he loves you dearly. He’s lost without you. Quite literally, at the present.”

A thin pink and gold cigarette appeared in Eros’ hand, already lit. He raised it to his lips. “Thank you, love.” he said. Sally nodded in quiet acknowledgment. Before them, the gray wanted pushed forward and retreated.

“The tide is turning.” Sally observed.

“Well, let’s hope so.” Said Eros.


	37. Morning

Halloweentown children often asked their parents to turn all of the lights off at bedtime. They whined for curtains to be drawn more thoroughly over their windows, and for bedroom doors to be shut tight. Such was their nature, as was the nature of all Halloween creatures. Sally was no different. Darkness was a thick warm blanket. Light was cold and uncompromising, and offered no comfort. It made one feel examined and unsafe, or at the very least, dangerously conspicuous.

 

It was strange then, Sally thought, how the most purely reassuring and peaceful moment she’d known in nearly a year came upon her just as the pumpkin sun peered over the hillsides.

 

There were wounds to be addressed, no question. She was confident they would do just that, but all in good time. For now... Jack’s bones sprawled on top of her, his skull cradled over her heart. Sally absently stroked his spine with as the bedroom lightened around them.

 

He’d offered to sleep alone. It was a gesture made in effort to atone for his foolish long absence. Sally saw no sense in it for either of them, and told him so. Clearly relieved, he nevertheless kept a respectful distance as they lay side by side for the first time since he’d gone. He fell asleep almost immediately, flooded with the realization of at last being home, surrounded by all things familiar.

 

It was some hours later when Sally woke him. She didn’t say a word out loud, only placed her palm against the side of his face until the warmth of her touch opened his eye sockets. She crept closer.

“Oooh...” Jack sighed, as his arms circled her. He laughed quietly. “As we were then?” he asked. His tone was tentative, yet hopeful. Sally clicked her tongue.

“Not quite. But we will be.” 

 

A lone sliver of sunlight reached between the curtains, illuminating a stripe on the bedroom's purple carpet.

"Sorry." Jack mumbled, still half asleep. "Sorry, again. And again, my beloved." He lifted his skull from her chest and smiled.

"Good Morning, Sally."

"It is, Jack. It certainly is."

  


	38. Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This makes sense if you've read my other fic, "Hazel". WandererRhia suggested this idea to me ages ago as a response to this prompt. I've finally gotten around to writing it.

       

 

Sally put three - no, four - lumps of sugar into her teacup. Noel skipped the tea entirely, instead pouring a mug of hot cocoa crowned with whipped cream. She stirred it with the straight end of a candy cane. Perhaps they could find a commonality in sugar, Mrs. Claus thought in hopeful desperation. After all, sweets were a big part of both Christmas and Halloween. What else? Sugar and... Daughters? Teacups? House cats? Goodness knows, they were in need of something.

 

The women sat at Mrs. Claus’s kitchen table, regarding each other with what could generously be described as a cool cordiality. They’d never before met in person. The pair were pressed into acquaintanceship some months prior, following the chance meeting of their eight year old daughters: Hazel and Ivy. The girls were fast friends from hello. It was all well and good, until Hazel's Halloween proclivities proved too unsettling for Noel, Ivy’s elven mother.

 

Accustomed to the lights and warmth of perpetual Christmas, Noel found herself decidedly rattled by her daughter’s sudden affection for a playmate who could summon ghosts at will. The fact that Hazel spoke casually of blood-drinking vampires and monsters under the bed, both unremarkable facts of life in her own town, helped matters none at all. As a mother herself, Noel was quick to dismiss any suggestion she thought ill of a child. It wasn’t that she disliked Hazel exactly, only she failed to see how the girl could be anything but a negative influence.

 

In turn, while Hazel’s mother Sally was initially delighted to learn her daughter found a friend, she could hardly abide anyone who made her child feel unwelcome. She further bristled at the notion that Halloween people were somehow dangerous by mere virtue of being who they are. True, inspiring fear was their vocational raison d’etre, however - this was different.  

 

Thus, Ivy and Hazel went for weeks without seeing one another. Noel didn't feel she could properly supervise a playdate with Yuletide fast approaching. Her work had piled up as it did every year, and she wouldn't agree to host the Halloween princess without the ability to keep a weather eye on the girls. The other choice, Ivy visiting Hazel in Halloweentown, was simply not going to happen. That may not have been a surprise, but Sally openly resented the implication that she couldn't be trusted to keep one little Christmastown girl safe on her watch.

 

This all led to Mrs. Claus's helpful offer to host the girls in her house. She had an avalanche of her own chores to attend to, but chores would always be there. Despite her husband's reconciliation with The Pumpkin King after that most regrettable incident years before, Halloween and Christmas remained an uneasy fit. Noel's feelings were not at all unique. But children are everything, Mrs. Claus thought. A true friendship between Ivy and Hazel meant more than either girl could know. These things needed to be encouraged.

 

Furthermore, the business of dropping off and collecting children made it easy enough for Mrs. Claus to engineer this admittedly awkward accidental tea party. When Noel walked into the Claus kitchen and saw The Pumkpin Queen seated at the table, her rosy cheeks drained of color. She nearly fell backwards. Mrs. Claus gamely ushered her into a chair. They had no offspring of their own, but both Santa and his wife had hundreds of years experience wringing good behavior out of reluctant children. Sally stiffened. She looked at Mrs. Claus and blinked slowly, realizing what the older woman had arranged. Mrs. Claus smiled, pushing onward with tea and cocoa and plates of pie.

 

"I...can't stay. I just need to fetch Ivy and head back." Noel said. Her timid tone suggested she knew her words were futile.

 

"You're fine!" Mrs. Claus chirped, patting Noel's shoulder as she took her own seat. "Nicholas knows you were coming here this afternoon. He'll hardly fret if the bakery is short a few cookies for the day."

 

Noel nodded. She swallowed and fidgeted with her cup, trying not to stare at Hazel's mother. She'd thought Hazel was disturbing, what with her haunting eyes, and thin lines of neatly inverted seams crossing her blue-gray skin. Her mother was all together horrifying to Noel's sheltered elven sensibilities. Sally noted the way Noel's mug trembled in her grip. Why are elves so skittish? she wondered. I'm not scary in the slightest at home. Here, I'm simply sitting with my tea, and Ivy's mother can scarcely hold a cup. No mystery why she was nervous of poor little Hazel, but really, how does she survive the day?     

 

"It's so nice to have both of you here!" Mrs. Claus declared. She knew she may have sounded overly festive, but someone had to. Above their heads, a flurry of giggles crossed the second floor.  The three women looked up at the sound.

"They had a lovely morning, just wonderful." said Mrs. Claus. "They get on so well with one another."

 

"Thank you for having Hazel." said Sally. "She’s been so sad missing Ivy. It means a great deal for her to spend time with her friend." Sally's eyes flicked from Mrs. Claus to Noel, holding her gaze until Noel looked uncomfortably down into her cocoa. Sally felt quietly guilty. She'd didn't usually take satisfaction in making someone squirm so, outside of holiday related efforts. She knew she was hardly helping the situation at hand. Still - it was hard to resist.   

 

"Hazel can come back at any time, of course. She's an easy keeper." Mrs. Claus laughed. "They both are!" The older woman looked expectantly at Noel, urging her into the conversation.

"I'm happy to hear Ivy was no trouble." Noel  managed.

 

An awkward silence fell. Mrs. Claus searched her brain for some friendly topic to start conversation anew, when Sally spoke to Noel:

 

"Hazel loves Ivy to bits. She has no sisters. There aren't even many little girls her age in our town. There are so many children here in Christmastown. That was why Jack thought to bring her along with him that day. We hoped she might find someone to play with, but never expected she'd make such a good friend. They send letters back and forth by the week, but it isn’t right not to let them see one another now and again." 

 

"Ivy is equally enchanted." Noel said after a moment's hesitation. "She wants nothing more than to play with Hazel as often as she can..."

 

"How wonderful! Well, that's easily done!" interjected Mrs. Claus, bringing her hands together under her chin. "I'd say we're all getting more adept at falling through trees these days, aren't we? Nothing to it!"

 

"We're just so busy. “ Noel continued, pushing back gently. “Holiday work never ends. I’d like to get them together more often, of course, but I’m sure you understand."

 

"That's why you let the child have a friend visit, Noel, dear! Keep her busy, and you can get on with it." Mrs. Claus declared, puncturing Noel’s attempt to retreat.

 

"I can always have them too, of course." Sally offered. "Ivy is most welcome in our home, anytime at all. Hazel has been here a few times now. It's only fair we share the responsibility."

 

There was that deadly silence again, Mrs. Claus thought. But things aren't going terribly. Not at all.  

 

"I don't mind having them!" Noel stammered with a nervous laugh, after a pause too long to be completely comfortable. "You're the queen of your holiday! If I'm busy, I can't imagine how much you must need to do each day. I'd never ask for you to - "

 

"You don't have to ask. It's perfectly fine." said Sally firmly. "Hazel would be over the moon to have Ivy visit. She's asked and asked. I told her I'd need to speak to you first, naturally, but it's no bother. If you're so very tangled with work, Ivy could simply stay over, whenever you’d like."

 

Mrs. Claus sensed that last bit was something of a test, though it was a logical enough suggestion.

 

Noel quailed, visibly searching for any sound reason to decline, apart from her multitude of worries about what could happen to her child in the terrible dark of Halloweentown. 

 

"I don't think so." was all she could get out. She instantly wished she could reel the words back for further review and revision. There had to be some way to reach the same end result, without causing a scene, but Sally’s eyes seemed to indicate that ship had sailed.

 

"Why exactly?” she countered. “We have five children. We've kept them all alive." A sharp edge crept into her voice for the first time in their interaction. 

 

"Weelll..." Noel began. Sensing that a digression into what exactly "alive" meant in Halloween parlance would only end in turmoil, Mrs. Claus stepped in quickly with a frazzled offer for more tea and cocoa. _Fine. Perhaps this was not the best idea_ , she thought. From her vantage point at the table, shecould see into the living room, to the staircase. She cleared her throat, tipping her head in that direction. Sally and Noel turned. The two girls were huddled together at the half-way point, peering through the banister railings. 

 

"Your mothers are here, girls." Mrs. Claus said, mustering more cheer than she felt. "Why don't you come down?"

 

The girls exchanged glances before making their way cautiously to the kitchen.

 

"Wow. You look like your mom." Ivy observed to Hazel as they stepped over the door sill.

 

"You look like your mom too." said Hazel.

 

"Quiet correct, on both counts!" said Mrs. Claus. “These girls have been the best company for one another all day. Isn’t that something? You never know who you’ll find who sings your key.”

 

Hazel happily draped her arm over the much smaller Ivy.

 

“I really really want Ivy to come over. Please? Please can’t she come visit and play at our house next time?” Hazel mournfully asked her mother.

 

Sally sighed deeply, leaning her chin into her hand. Her gaze met Noel’s once more.

 

“Please?” Ivy echoed, looking at her own mother. “I want to go somewhere different. Hazel is my very best friend, and I’ve never even seen where she lives!”

 

Noel looked helplessly at Mrs. Claus, though she knew too well there’d be no rescue there. After all, Mrs. Claus was the one who arranged all of this in the first place. She simply regarded Noel with pained expectation. Noel was fairly certain that if Santa himself had been there, he’d have done the same at this point.

 

“Christmas is about hope.”, Mrs. Claus said plainly, lifting her cup to her lips.

 

“Ivy would be very safe, Noel.” Sally said quietly. “I have children. I know how it feels to worry.”

 

“I’m quite on the spot, aren’t I?” Noel said.

 

“But a grand spot isn’t it?” Mrs. Claus laughed. “And an important one, I might add.”

 

“Not overnight.” Noel conceded, choosing to take what meager terms she could get. “Home before the sun sets in Halloweentown. A Tuesday after Christmas.”

 

The girls cheered and jumped up and down together. Satisfied that she’d wrangled some measure of victory (however qualified) out of this torturous afternoon, Mrs. Claus offered Ivy and Hazel ice-cream before they’d have to part ways.

 

“I love ice-cream!” Hazel gushed. “I love it, and I can make lines on it with my tongue!”

 

“She can!” Ivy attested. “Like elevens!”

 

Hazel cheerfully stuck the points of her forked tongue between her lips.

 

“That’s delightful, Hazel.” chuckled Mrs. Claus. “Isn’t it delightful, Noel?”

 

“It’s um, very...Halloween.” said Noel, doing her best to sound light-hearted.

 

Sally sighed again, this time with mild impatience at her daughter.

 

“Hazel, please keep your tongue in your mouth. But yes, it is very Halloween. And it is delightful.”


	39. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I still have to do Evening, but I happened to have a bunny for this one so I skipped ahead.

In the earliest chapters of Sally’s life, each day provided a surplus of empty time. While hardly ideal, this circumstance allowed for the

development of a deep inner life. Left alone in silence for hours to clean the lab, cook meals - then do it all over again, day after day,

after day, her thoughts often felt both soothing and cavernous. There was so much of herself to know. She wondered how it could all fit

inside of her.

 

Living with Jack, Sally’s days were quite suddenly filled with sound. There was finally someone to talk to. There was someone to sing to,

and he would lovingly sing back. There was also endless holiday work outside the walls of the house. She was now a part of all of it,

surrounded by the chattering swirl of townsfolk. It was everything she’d wished for.

 

It was therefore in some measure disconcerting to find herself grateful for a few moments alone, happy even for Jack’s absence. He was

outside somewhere, likely making up for the day he’d missed after the birth of their sons. The babies were with her, naturally, but

sleeping. She held them on her chest, their delicate forms covered with a thin blanket. She patted their spines lightly with her fingertips.

She’d only known them for two days, but they seemed to like that.

 

_“Oh! You have a child?”_

_“No.”_

_“You’ve never had a child? A baby?”_

_“No. Never.”_

_“Did you...lose a baby?”_

_“Lose?”_

_“Forgive me, but I mean to say, did you have a baby that didn’t survive?”_

 

She remembered being utterly puzzled by those questions. They’d been posed to her the better part of a year before, by a kind doctor

from Christmastown. Given the tension between herself and the only doctor to reside in Halloweentown, a physician known to none other

than Santa Claus himself had somewhat reluctantly agreed to help, when word that the Pumpkin King’s wife was mysteriously ill reached

Christmastown.

 

Sally barely took the poor man seriously that first visit. He was jittery, twitching at every spectral vapor and random creak, and clearly

terrified of Jack. Nevertheless, he asked a great many questions, some exceedingly personal. Further, he found it necessary to examine

her to a degree that felt at worst cruel, and at best absurdly random. She realized in short order of course that it was not. It was during

those most awkward moments that he asked if she’d had a baby before. Her bewildered answer of “no” only seemed to befuddle him into

asking again. It began to feel as if he was trying different arrangements of the same words, in the hopes of producing a yes.

 

_“It’s only...it appears that you have had a child. Such things are never a certainty, but...”_

_“It’s possible some part of me has, I suppose. Before me, I mean. Before it was mine.”_

It had then been the doctor’s turn to look bewildered.

 

It began to rain, water freckling the windowglass. Sally briefly wondered if Jack had thought to bring an umbrella out with him, before her

thoughts returned to the conversation with the doctor.

 

_“Did you have a baby that didn’t survive?”_

 

Did she? Well no, she didn’t. It was most possible someone did. Someone else’s child slept where her new little ones had slept. Someone

else’s child perhaps didn’t survive. Someone else quite clearly didn’t survive, or else she wouldn’t have received their parts. It couldn’t

have been too terribly long ago. Truthfully, she was more than likely the product of a number of such strange inheritances. Perhaps the

child who came before did survive. They were out walking in the world, with no mother.

 

One of the infants squirmed against her stitches. Sally slid him down to her breast before he could wake his twin.

 

The doctor’s query had been nothing but strange all those months ago. She’d certainly not wasted another moment’s worry on it that

night, what with the enormous news that she and Jack were expecting. She’d not given it a thought since either. Not until this very

moment. For that, she suddenly felt a pang of cold, confused sorrow.

 


	40. Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've always had this thought in the back of my mind about the werewolf in Halloweentown. What happens with him? It's probably the inverse of if he was in the human world, right?

"What is this stuff, anyway?" Shock asked, squinting at the garishly labled jar. "Pea-nut but-ter? What's it for?"

"It's for poor Rupert." Mrs. Corpse replied with a hurried sigh.

"Huh? The werewolf? What happened to him?"

 

"I'll take care of it this time." said Sally. In their distraction, she and Mrs. Corpse skipped briskley over Shock's puzzlement. "I just made

bread yesterday morning." Sally continued. "We have plenty. I made it very plain too, when I remembered the moon phases.

 

"Thank you, dear. You're always thinking ahead." Mrs. Corpse said earnestly. The large woman turned back to Shock, extending her hand

with expectation. "Jelly?"

 

"I couldn't find that." Shock answered, shrugging. "Well, I did actually, but I found too much of it. A hundred different ones. There were so

many, it was stupid! I was going to ask someone else what we should get, then I forgot to go back..."

 

Mrs. Corpse slumped her shoulders as if this was the most difficult news she'd received in ages. Sally waved off the crisis.

 

"The jelly is easy enough." she said. She looked up thoughtfully, going through her pantry shelves inside her head. "I'll manage it with

currants. That should be close, don't you think? But it's already after noon. I need to go home and get started, or it won't be finished by

tonight."

 

"What are you doing this for again?" Shock prodded.

 

"Rupert!" Mrs. Corpse answered with impatience. "It's the new moon tonight! He'll be a mess! Always is!"

 

"Why ever can't Dr. Finklestein find a way to put a stop to this silliness?" one of the witch sisters interjected, stepping into their

discussion. "Isn't there some kind of shot or something? Such mollycoddling!"

 

The witch's query was directed at Sally, presumably the subject matter expert in what the old doctor could, or couldn't, accomplish. Sally

only relieved Shock of the peanut butter jar, murmuring again about needing to get back home to make the jelly before moonrise.

 

"What ARE you guys doing?" Shock shouted. It was the third time she'd voiced her curiousity. Frustration bubbled over in her shrill voice,

since the previous two attempts yielded nothing useful from the townswomen. Downright ungrateful, Shock thought, especially since

she'd taken time out of her and the boys' Halloween evening in the human world to wrangle up that weird jar of peanut goo, by request.

 

"We always make Rupert dinner on the new moon, since he won't come out." Mrs. Corpse at last explained. "Just sits in his house,

shivering and crying. It's the same every month. We've tried a few different dishes, but he wouldn't touch a thing before we started with

the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I decided we should try those when he goes through his spells, poor thing. We hoped it might

make him feel safe, until he's back to normal."

 

"Well, why isn't anyone else making stuff for him, instead of just you two?" asked Shock.

 

"You have to be very careful with him." Sally said, nodding. "He's so confused."

 

"He doesn't remember a thing, not a thing." added Mrs. Corpse. "Doesn't even recognize Jack! He did try to venture out that once, and

Jack only tried to help him..."

 

"He hasn't come out since." Sally said sadly. "During his spells, I mean. And that's just as well. The vampires would be on him in a

heartbeat. So to speak."

 

"Right. So...We deal with him. It's only one night a month." sighed Mrs. Corpse.

 

"Well. Have at it, ladies." said the witch with a chuckle as she headed back across the square.

 

Shock laughed in surprise at the revelation. She'd never paid much attention to Rupert before, in any respect. _Wait until the boys_

_found out about this..._ As if reading Shock's mind, Sally raised her finger in the space between them.

 

"Don't even think about plotting something with Lock and Barrel to tease him!" she warned. "You'll be sorry when he gets his teeth back!"

 

Shock rolled her eyes, but had to admit that was a good point.


	41. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two part response to the Sight prompt.

I

Her gift. Sally couldn't remember precisely the first time it happened. In those first weeks, everything ran together. The visions

were almost constant, as her young brain struggled to discern what was actually before her, from what was an illusion. She saw

things that didn't fit. There were random bubbles of strangeness, like reaching for a spoon she would have sworn was right under

her hand, only to realize it was still across the kitchen. Puddles of boiling liquid rushing across the stone floor, moments before

she stumbled and dropped the old man's soup dinner. Inconsequential and disruptive. She tried to explain her visions to the

doctor. For all she'd known at the time, everyone had this problem. He told her to stop talking foolishness, finally speculating that

if her brain was prone to such malfunctions, perhaps her head needed to be opened back up for examination. That was the end of

the conversation, as it were. She didn't mention her puzzlements to him again.

 

Once her personal reality settled into a month after

month routine, the episodes stretched further apart. The visions became less frequent, but more striking. A thundering clanging in

her skull forced her to her knees, clutching her head. The following day, a stray lightening bolt hit the town bell tower, setting the

wood ablaze. She watched with astonishment from the kitchen window, as townsfolk struggled to collect fountain water to douse

the flames.

 

Months after that - there was Jack.

 

He helped her to her feet. It was the first time they'd met, and the first time anyone

apart from the doctor had touched her in any capacity. Jack took her hand, gently guiding her up. Her eyes widened. She gasped,

pulling in a soft mouthful of air as if she were about to blow out a candle. Her head was instantly so congested with images, she

couldn’t have spoken a word even if she’d had a mind to do so.

 

A child's flip-book was held aloft, and set into motion before her

eyes. There was Jack. And wind, and fire, and sorrow, and cold... Then, a warmer warmth than anything she could have imagined

before. Stars upon stars... So many, they overlapped. More Jack. Hands holding one another, and noses touching while they

laughed and pressed their mouths together. The pictures sped, threatening to overflow her sensibilities, pushing aside every other

thought she held. Halloween, and Halloween, and Halloween again. Each was bigger than the last. The holiday itself swirled around

her. More Jack, and more flickering pictures. Some were quiet and thoughtful. Others made her cheeks burn, and her knees

threaten to buckle under her.

 

Sally stumbled back against a table once Jack had eased her completely to her feet. A small rack of

test tubes crashed to the floor, shattering. Sally fidgeted her hands together against her stomach. She blinked in shock, flushed

and shaking. It was a struggle to look at Jack at all after everything that had taken flight through her brain. She feared all of it

could be seen it in her eyes. Jack barely noticed. From the outside, her clumsiness appeared no more than a slight spell. Nerves, or

exhaustion, or just remnants of her newness. He smiled warmly at her, as the doctor stammered in embarrassment.

 

"Not at all, Doctor." Jack said, cheerfully dismissing the apologies with a raised hand. "I'm happy to sweep this up. It’s clearly my

fault, I pulled her up a little too quickly. Sally is perfectly fine, and what a horribly lovely creature she is! You must be delighted

with her!"

 

The doctor groaned, unable to express much more disapproval than that, on the off chance that Jack had indeed inadvertently

caused the test tubes to fall. One never wanted to appear that the King himself was a bother.

 

Alone in her bed that night, Sally closed her eyes tight, holding her head. She tried and tried to coax the vision back. She longed to see it again, just for an instant.

 

II

 

Sally sat behind her sewing machine as best she could in her present condition. There was nothing for it. Her stitched belly

stretched forward, straining her back if she tried to work the treadle while feeding fabric under the needle. She'd expected as

much. That was largely why she'd spent the better part of the month working at home, hand-mending as she could, tabulating

numbers from previous Halloweens, and of course, preparing for the baby. Jack was a mess of nerves on that front. He fussed and

fretted, imploring her to lie down as much as possible. She did her best, but it was October after all.

 

Besides, after the events of the previous evening, she wanted to be out in the square this morning. She was not one for

schadenfreude, and had the worst happened, clearly there would have been nothing to celebrate. Happily, crisis was averted,

leaving only a gleaming "I-Told-You-So" in its wake. She didn't even have to say so herself. Word spread like swamp gas. The sun

was barely up, but everyone knew.

 

The witches had a trip to the human realm planned to hunt for potion ingredients. This was a periodic occurrence throughout the

year. Jack left them to it. That was, until the week before the sisters were due to depart. Jack and Sally relaxed in their parlor,

reading in silence, when Sally stopped mid-page in her storybook. She'd had enough visions to recognize the approach of one, as

well as the futility of trying to fight it off. She gave herself over, as the book resting on her belly slammed shut. It darkened and

swelled into a volume entitled _"Halloweentown"_ , before opening again, almost painfully. The pages shriveled as if exposed to

burning light - then turned to ash in her hands.

 

When the vision cleared, Jack was kneeling at her side, eye sockets wide with concern.

 

"Tell the witches to postpone their trip, Jack." Sally instructed breathlessly. "They need to wait one week later than

planned. Tell them to use a different path than the one they usually take, and then to take a third path home. Don't go the same

way twice."

 

"This is very important, isn't it?" Jack asked gravely. His wife nodded.

 

Though the witches adored Jack, they appreciated none at all a dictum from his empty-headed child of a wife, presuming to know

what was best for them. Postpone their trip for a week? Did the simple girl not know what month it was? They could no more toss

away a week of holiday work than they could lose their own heads. The Mayor scowled in panic, observing the closest thing he'd

ever seen to an argument between the two ancient hags and The Pumpkin King.

 

"I have every confidence that you two will do just fine with your deadlines regardless. Nevertheless, I

give you my word that you won’t be faulted if you're a hair short, given the circumstances. Sally's visions are to be taken seriously.

I'm quite afraid I've learned this the hard way."

 

"How do you know she's right in the head presently, Jack? She’s in an interesting

condition, after all..." said the smaller witch.

 

Her sister nodded in agreement.

 

"Wearing the bustle wrong addles your brain. That's a

simple fact. We've been to the human world how many times, over how many centuries? She's in no position to question it!"

 

"She isn't questioning it, ladies. Sally has only advised changing the day, and minding your paths. I've said that last bit more than

once, have I not? We can't afford to be predictable if we venture out when not protected by Halloween."

 

"Have we ever been predictable to the likes of them, Jack?" The tall witch sister countered. "Anyway. Anyone can have an off dream

and claim to know the future. Surely you don't think she's a seer? Those are few and far between as frog hairs."

 

“Very unlikely.” the small witch added. “A black cat’s whisker in a haystack.”

 

"Push the trip back one week." Jack repeatedly firmly. His darkening tone closed the door on further

debate. He ended their interaction with a gentlemanly nod of his skull, before showing himself out of the shop, The Mayor

hurrying nervously behind him.

 

"Well, now what are we supposed to do?" The smaller witch asked in defeat.

 

"We go." Her sister

responded, shrugging. "We go as planned. Jack heads back inside early these days, and we'll be home long before morning."

 

"You don't think anything will happen, do you?"

 

"Not a bit! We'll leave the cauldron on watch with Fishgal just in case, but we'd do that anyway. Finish making your list. We'll waste no more time dithering over this silliness."  

 

So they did. A narrow escape from disaster followed.

 

Sally still wasn't entirely sure of the details. She awoke in the small hours of morning to the scream of the door bell,

followed by Jack frantically dressing and flying out of the house in a blur. Now everyone was abuzz with the news. The Pumpkin

Queen had warned Jack, he had warned the sisters. They went anyway. They were almost caught, and could have exposed the

passages. The Pumpkin King himself had to sail in and assist their exit back to Halloweentown. Catastrophic - saved only by the

"almosts" and the "nearlys".

 

Sally threaded her needle. Her emotions were split between the sweet release of validation, and a prickly anger than someone

else’s actions could potentially endanger her child. She realized with some surprise that it was the first time she’d come close to

such a thought. She turned it over in her brain as one would examine an unusual stone.

 

"How are you, dear?" Mrs. Corpse asked earnestly, stepping under the sewing tent canopy. "You're close to your time."

 

"I am. I feel strange, but it won't be much longer. Thank you for asking."

 

Mrs. Corpse nodded. She placed a small paper box on the corner of the sewing

machine table.

 

"It's a sugar bun, dear. Make sure you're eating. A little monster will take it out of you either way. You need more

than you'd think to keep your strength up. I know Jack takes good care of you, but he's up to his eye sockets today."

 

"Thank you." Sally said, filled with genuine gratitude at the offering. "That's very kind of you, Mrs. Corpse. You didn't have to."

 

"I did indeed, dear. Anyway. Your gift...you know what I mean...it's most remarkable. We've never had the likes of it before in our

town.”

 

“I expect you’ll be listened to in the future after all this.” a deep voice interrupted. The scaled Fishgal slid around the corner of the

tent, joining their conversation.

 

Sally breathed a soft noise that might have been agreement. Her gift.


	42. Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I said something about this one of my earlier notes, but I do picture my NBC world as being a musical universe. I am not a music writer or lyricist, therefore I don't attempt to do that in my fics - but I imagine it that way, just as it was in the movie. Plot points are musically driven. Important things have songs, sometimes you just sing for the heck of it. Musical compatibility is seen as something both vital, and impossible to fake.

_"I wouldn't have thought it would make such an impression. After everything, that this is what would make me permanent."_

_"My Beloved, you were, and have been, most permanent. You've been etched into my bones since Christmas. No, my very heart!"_

_"Oooooh, thank you, Jack. But, I only meant to them. After all that's happened, all the times we've made it clear what we are to one another, it was such a fleeting moment! Nevermind that we sing together every night, and every morning, sometimes when we're preparing to go out..."_

_"We do, but behind closed doors. I hadn't given that much thought. I suppose this was the first time in town."_

_"Christmas." Sally said absently. "But we were alone."_

_"True." Jack agreed with a nod._

  
Though The Pumpkin King and Sally had been inseparable since Christmas, Jack's capricious, artistic, nature, left many in his spooky town speculating just how long he would remain enthralled of his ragdoll sweetheart. The fact that the pair formed immediately after that terrible fiasco suggested this too might be little more than a quirk of their leader's mercurial personality. Most couldn't quite decide what to make of it. He was still their Jack, true enough. His Halloween inspirations hadn't been so terrifying in years. Nevertheless, it was disconcerting to see him go all soft and moony every time Sally timidly stepped to his side. He'd also developed a troubling habit of vanishing now and again throughout the workday. Never for long, but such behavior unsettled a town long accustomed to knowing his every move. The last time he disappeared had lead to Christmas, after all.

Little Barrel swore that he'd inadvertently come upon Jack and Sally in the empty town hall, late one morning. He claimed, rather breathlessly, that they appeared to be devouring one another. Lock had doubled over laughing, while Shock covered her face in exasperation. Still, the idea that Jack was only keeping Sally around to eventually consume her struck a random few as plausible. Mere moments later, the pair arrived back in the square together. They looked none the worse for wear, though Sally's pale cheeks were a touch purple, and Jack's usually crisp lapels lay oddly crumpled.

Guessing just how long this was going to continue soon developed into something of a secret pastime among the citizenry.

"It's hardly that serious in the eternal sense. At least, I don't think so." the Harlequin Demon said thoughtfully, scratching his forehead with one of his many tentacles.

"I disagree. There have been some rather eternal interactions." one of the vampires replied. His words came out slowly, as if carefully selected from a tray of possible choices. "Such things are obvious to us vampires," he went on, "...but besides, it's all the whisper among the ghosts."

"Oh, you don't know anything." the taller of the two witch sisters sighed with a dismissive wave of her gnarled hand.

  
The Mayor frowned, watching animated conversations bounce in hushed tones from one of his constituents to the next. It was simply something to talk about for most of them, at most a mild irritation or even jealousy to others. Still, he decided that none of the others were as capable as he of recognizing what was at stake. Jack's new infatuation could potentially upend Halloween itself. They'd barely survived that Christmas mess! True, there was a chance everything would be fine, or even better than before. The town children liked Sally very much, grinning when she stopped to talk to them in the square. The Behemoth, never one for unnecessary words, seemed partial to her as well, though would describe him as easily impressed. He regarded her gently reattaching his overall button as a feat of sorcery. Mrs. Corpse more than once opined that Jack was better for having such company. She blathered on and on about how he'd needed someone like Sally for ages. Mrs. Corpse was a fine woman, thought The Mayor, but she had that sticky, soppy, almost human, sentamentality. The Terrible Pumpkin King needed someone to tuck him in at night, and to make sure he ate enough to keep his bones together? The very idea would have been laughable, were it not evident that Jack was rapidly convincing himself of the same thing.

Even so, Jack was Jack. It was what they all loved about him. He was a force of nature unto himself. Wasn't he?

Sally sat on the stones by the corner of the town hall, two large bowls on either side of her lap. From one, she extracted a sodden orange web of pumpkin innards. She carefully seperated out the seeds, deposting them into the second bowl. It was quiet, if messy, work. She tried more than once to join into the town songs, the musical engines that pulled everyone towards the end of October. She tried, but couldn't quite find her way. _Give it time. They've had decades to find their places. Centuries. You can't expect it to happen in a matter of months_. All of that was true, she thought. Her inner voice was ever reassuring in times likes this. Still, she felt as though their melodies purposefully locked her out. The voices were a circle with arms interlaced. She could continue to try to fling herself against it, but the effort was futile. Sally fell quiet in frustration, slippery, wet, pumpkin seeds accumilating by her side.

Silence settled around her like a shawl, until she heard her favorite voice ringing through the mix. A wide smile bloomed across Sally's face.

She surprised herself with what came next. She sang out, sending her voice like a paper airplane, carefully aimed across the square. Jack paused mid-note and strode towards her, beaming.

Their songs met. Her soft high notes wound around Jack's baritone like silk ribbon, holding it close as every other voice fell away. They were all listening. Harmony. No one before had managed that with Jack. Not ever.

Sally and Jack parted at last, Jack planting a kiss on her forehead before he returned to other tasks. Rejuvenated, Sally resumed her work on the pumpkin seeds, until a broad shadow fell over her. She looked up once more.

"You really aren't going anywhere." The Mayor's forlorn face sighed in resignation.

"I am not."


	43. Taste Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is taking me longer than I expected. I want to post what I have ready thus far, therefore I'm splitting it into two parts.

 

Jack gazed quizzically at the frosty kitchen window from a vantage point beside the Claus house. Santa Claus himself stood only steps

closer, straining just enough to see their wives inside.

 

"They aren't finished the tea yet?" Jack asked with impatience. "We've checked back twice thus far."

 

"They appear to be in deep discussion." Santa remarked. "Very deep indeed." 

 

"Whatever could they be talking about?" Jack wondered aloud. "There's so much I'd like to show Sally in this wonderful place, but we don't

have all night."

 

"I understand, Jack, but perhaps we'd best leave them to it." Santa opined. In truth, he had no more idea than Jack about what topic so

captured their spouses. Santa however possessed enough experience to guess that whatever it was, husbands likely had little germaine to

contribute.

 

Jack nodded, scratching his skull thoughtfully as the two men stepped away through the snow.

"I suppose I'm somewhat taken aback." he said. "Sally is usually quite slow to open up. She's likely said more to your wife this evening than

she has to nearly anyone in our own town. Myself excluded, naturally."

 

"In any event, we'll return in short order." Santa assured his guest.

 

Jack paused again, mid-stride.

"Er, Mr. Claus, you don't think they could be talking about us, do you? About you and I?"

 

Earlier...

Santa Claus could instantly assess anyone's benevolence, or lack thereof. As super powers go, it was a quiet one, albeit necessary for a man

in his position. He knew if a child had lied, or if they'd simply been misunderstood. He knew if someone was kind only while being watched.

He knew if intentions were good. He just knew. He was *Santa Claus*. Had he not possessed such an indisputable talent, his wife would have

balked more forcefully at welcoming Jack Skellington into their home. She had solid faith in her husband's appraisal of The Pumpkin King's

redemption. Even so, she couldn't help but make her trepidation known. In turn, he couldn't help but defend his conclusions.

 

"In his heart of hearts, Jack is a kindly soul. Of that, I am utterly confident." Santa promised her. "Heaven knows, if I, of all people, can say

such a thing, I don't see where anyone could disagree. Anyway, I gave Jack a stern talking to before I left on Christmas, don't forget!"

 

"A talking to?" Mrs. Claus repeated with a dry chuckle. "Ah, well. That solves everything, does it?"

 

"From Santa Claus! I believe it's worth something. That wasn't all, besides. I also left him with a warning to heed more cautious judgement.

Specifically, Sally's. He followed my advice all the way to the alter, didn't he? I don't mind saying, I take no small measure of pride in

whatever part I played there."

 

"Are there alters in Halloweentown?" Mrs. Claus asked. She turned to her husband with an eyebrow raised, and a hand on her hip. As he

struggled to compose a response, she returned her attention to repotting amaryillys bulbs in their back kitchen.

  
  
"Sally is _good_." Santa said after a momentary break in their banter. To the uninformed, his statement may have sounded overly simple,

however "Good", decreed by the one and only Santa Claus, was more than a word. It was a profound judgement. A state of being.

He approached his wife again, taking hold of her soil-speckled hands.

"I believe Jack Skellington was most harshly jolted back onto the right track after our terrible ordeal. I nevertheless stand by my belief that

finding the right soul mate could prevent behavioral relapse. Wouldn't you agree?"

 

"I do." Mrs. Claus conceded. "If ennui was indeed Jack's problem, well, twitterpation is fine insurance."

 

Santa nodded emphatically, pleased at last to sense his closest ally and confidant coming on board.

"This is in part why I'm pleased to host them sooner, rather than later, Love." he declared. "But I could use your assistance. Jack's clearly over

the moon, if his letters are any indication. I'm delighted for him, truly, but I'd appreciate it if you could make sure all is well from her side of

things. I gather some days are easier than others for Sally. She's young, and clearly a very different personality than our Jack. Not that that is

a bad thing! Two Jacks under one roof...I can't begin to imagine. It's only, the adjustments one must make leading a holiday, it can take a

great deal out of even the most gregarious sorts. I hardly need to tell you."

 

"You certainly don't." Mrs. Claus interjected, prompting her husband to nod solemnly in agreement before plunging ahead with his concern.

 

"I say once more, Jack is a kindly soul. I believe he loves his new wife dearly. But, well, he may not be in the best position to offer

sympathetic counsel about this vocation we all follow. Perhaps you could make sure she's coming along alright? Assure me that it's all

working as well as Jack says it is?"

 

 Mrs. Claus reserved the right to warm up to Jack on her own terms. She wasn't about to be pushed into it. Her husband knew to take what

grace she was willing to give. She more agreeable to this matter of Jack's wife. If nothing else, Santa's account of that Christmas night

indicated he might well owe his life to Sally. Jack may have done the final saving, but Mrs. Claus would be quick to point out that he'd

created the disasterous chain of events in the first place.

 

Given all of that, she at least owed his bride a cup of tea.


	44. Taste Pt.2

Mrs. Claus had hung back in the kitchen when Halloweentown's first couple arrived, starting inwardly at Jack's looming visage, despite his obvious efforts to remain subdued and non-threatening. There was only so much a nearly seven foot tall skeletal creature could do towards that effort. His wife Sally lingered shyly at his side. More affected by the cold than her husband, her cheeks were plum purple. Her lips trembled from the frigid outdoors, as snowflakes melted in her long red hair.  Still, she gazed around the Claus' living room in wonder, seeing for the first time all of the peculiar little items Jack treasured, here in their natural habitat.  

 

Pleasantries exchanged, Santa made the kind suggestion that perhaps the wives could get to know one another while Sally warmed up from the trip. Jack was delighted to show his love everything that enchanted him in Christmastown, but, Santa Claus reminded, they had all evening afterall.  

 

"I'll take Jack to the workshop for a spell and show him what we've been working on. We won't be long." Santa said, raising his brows hopefully at his wife. She answered with a nod. Sally self consciously ran pale fingers through her now damp hair. Rising onto her toes, she brushed a quick kiss on Jack's face before stepping into the kitchen behind Mrs. Claus.

___

  

         "Well, then. The boys are off. I'm sure they'll be occupied for a little while. My husband is every bit as excited to show your husband all of this year's ideas, as your Jack is to see them. The elves are plenty enthusiastic of course, but it's different when you've been working on Christmas tidings day in, and day out. It must be the same in your town. Well - you don't have elves, I realize. Even so...Halloween...creatures?"  She feared she was being offensive, but her guest simply smiled and nodded agreeably.

 

Mrs. Claus wasn't entirely sure what to serve. Tea seemed less culturally specific than hot chocolate, or eggnog. The Pumpkin King's wife sat at the kitchen table, worrying her hands together in her lap. Prior to this trip, she'd not set foot anywhere outside of her own town.

 

"I do drink tea, thank you." She answered very quietly. Mrs. Claus filled the kettle. 

  "I brought these!" Sally said suddenly. "Jack said we might have tea. I wanted to bring something." She leaned down to a small quilted bag she'd carried with her, extracting a hinged purple tin painted with silver spider webs.

 

"I baked them. I found the recipe in one of Jack's books. They taste rather Christmassy, or that is, they did to me. I didn't know for certain, since I've not been here before.  But...they tasted the way Jack described Christmas? I hope that makes sense." She held the box out to her host.

 

Mrs. Claus stammered a 'thank you'. She did her best to open the box with no noticeable hesitation, as her guest looked on with a hopeful smile. 

"Oh! Cookies?"

 

"They're ginger spice cookies." Sally said, nodding. "I followed the recipe as it was. I didn't change it, or add anything. I thought they might be something you'd like." 

 

Mrs. Claus caught the intention behind The Pumpkin Queen's explanation. Halloweentown food could frequently include any number of surprising ingredients not appreciated by outsiders. The cookie tin open, a sweet perfume of ginger, cloves, and cinnamon filled the warm kitchen and hung in the air between the two women.

 

"Are they okay?" Sally asked, watching nervously as Mrs. Claus tried one of the cookies.

 

"They're perfect." the older woman said with a genuinely delighted smile. "Perfectly Christmassy too. And made in Halloweentown! Who would have thought such a thing?" Sally smiled in relief.

 

"I underestimated the cold here." said Sally, her voice almost sheepish. She moved her hand down the arm of her thin black cardigan. "It was silly of me, of course. "I've seen Jack's picture books. We had that lovely snowfall of our very own. I still didn't realize how different it is actually being here. Thank you for the tea. And for the warm kitchen. l'll know to wear something more suitable next time."

 

"Did Jack not warn you?" Mrs. Claus asked, topping off both of their cups.

 

"I don't think he notices how cold it is." Sally answered with a soft laugh. "I'm a little warmer than he is most of the time anyway. I suppose that's why I felt it more. He's so excited and happy to be here. It lights him up inside. Sometimes little details get lost when he's in one of those moods. She laughed again, looking down at her hands.

 

"I can't say as Nicholas is far different in that respect." Mrs. Claus chuckled. Sally blinked, puzzled.

 

"Nicholas?"

 

"Santa!"

 

"Ah!" Sally breathed.

 

They sipped tea in silence for several seconds, before Sally spoke again.

 

"How long have you and Santa Claus been married?"

 

Mrs. Claus looked to the ceiling in thought for a moment, before answering:

 

"I stopped counting after the first century. Once you've made it through one hundred years, the numbers all run together anyway. It's a grand adventure, regardless. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy."

 

"This is true." Sally agreed with a nod, her thick eyelashes sweeping downward. The solemnity in her tone indicated a recent reckoning with the challenges of a joined life. Mrs. Claus slid the purple cookie tin closer to Sally's cup.

 

"it's not all marshmallows and candy canes being a newlywed. I remember that much." she confided. Sally selected one of the cookies. They tasted better to her now that they'd won the approval of Mrs. Claus. Every time she tasted them at home, she could do nothing but scrutinize the flavor for missteps. Blessed by the Queen of Christmas herself, they were absolved.

 

"It's hard." Sally said. She sounded as if she would have liked to expound, but couldn't quite do it.

 

"Are you Jack getting on alright?" Mrs. Claus asked, concerned. "Is he kind to you?" Her fears about her own husband's kidnapper bubbled forth in her brain once again, but Sally nodded emphatically, dispelling any worries in that vein. 

 

"Oh, yes! Very kind. That part is wonderful. Jack's more than kind, he's been so good to me. He's kind, and gentle... Very protective.  Jack and I are simply wonderful together. It's just, well, I never thought about anything else before we were together, but it's all of those other things that are difficult. It's a little like this sweater, I'm afraid. I wasn't prepared. It's not just Jack and I, after all. It's...it's...

 

"It's a whole new job." Mrs. Claus said with a knowing laugh. "And a whole world waiting to tell you how to do it."

 

"YES!" Sally exclaimed. She laughed herself in relief, taking another of the cookies.

 

____

  

"She's had plenty of time to thaw from the journey now, do you think?" Jack pondered impatiently. "And likely enough to have finished her tea? And whatever it was they were talking about?"

 

Santa consulted his pocket watch.

 

"Alright. We've given them a little more time. Let's go see."

\----

 

The two men paused, exchanging glances with one another upon entering the house. Hushed female voices, clearly engaged in deep conversation, emanated from the kitchen.

"Whatever are they doing?" Jack asked curiously. Santa Claus stepped closer to the kitchen doorway. It took the women several seconds to notice his presence, and then it was only after he'd cleared his throat. They paused mid-sentence, blinking at him.

 

"You ladies doing well?" he asked. "Just about done with the tea?"

 

Mrs. Claus cleared her throat.

 

"Nicholas, why don't you take Jack, and go look at the bakery?" she suggested.

 

"Sally bakes!" Jack exclaimed happily. "She makes all sorts of things! Sally, you could see the bakery here! We don't have a large bakery in Halloweentown. Candy kettles, yes, but not a bakery exactly."

 

"Go on ahead. We'll meet you boys there in short order." Mrs. Claus said firmly.

 

_______

 

 

The two holiday first ladies watched their somewhat confused husbands depart once more.

 

"We should save some of these for them." Mrs. Claus sighed, reluctantly closing the lid on the cookie tin. "They really are lovely."

 

"I can give you the recipe." Sally offered. "Although actually, I should return the book to your town. It's one of the things Jack took when he was studying your holiday. It really isn't ours to keep."

 

Mrs. Claus waved the suggestion away.

 

"Keep it. Cookie recipes are plentiful here, and you did them up so nicely. It gives us an excuse to see one another again. Not that we need an excuse mind you, but you know. It's easier to tell everyone we're sharing tea and cookies, than airing out our holiday grievances. Come on, then. I'll find a wrap for you before we go outside. You're far more statuesque than I could ever hope to be, but I'm sure there's something here." 

 

"Thank you." Sally replied. "And - thank you for the other things too. The other things you said. I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining. I have everything I could ever want, truly. And Jack, Jack is wonderful. I do talk to him about all of it. I can tell him anything, and I do. And he tries! He really does try! And - "

 

"Stop!" Mrs. Claus laughed. "I understand. I understand! What a thing we've signed on for, you and I, yes? It's a good thing we love them."

 

"That is a good point. They're lucky too, I suppose." Sally murmured.

 

"Don't forget that." Mrs. Claus said with a wink.


	45. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's some fluff.

Far below the dark tower bedroom, the front door of the house clicked closed. Jack, dearest Jack, was home. Sally’s eyes flicked open. Effervescent giddy joy tickled her insides, despite the fact she’d felt nearly delirious with fatigue before settling into bed over an hour before. She and Jack had barely a moment’s interaction since leaving the house together early that morning, save for a forlorn shared glance as she finished up her own holiday assignments for the day.  Surrounded by a group of Halloween folk, each awaiting his attention, Jack paused for the quickest sliver of a moment to meet  her eyes. He mouthed a single syllable, and touched his chest with the palm of his skeletal hand. Sally clasped her hands over her heart in reply.

She now quivered under the blanket, practically glowing, as she waited for him to make his way upstairs to her. 

He did at last, nuzzling a kiss onto her shoulder before sitting down to remove his shoes and suit. Behind her back, Sally heard him fuss with the fire. He added another log, and arranged a hinged screen between the hearth and the iron headboard of the bed. Stepping away once again, he rummaged in his wardrobe to hang his suit and slacks. The metal of a hanger scraped against the bar inside, as he pulled a fresh shirt forward for the morning. He next crossed the chamber to the desk . Sally heard the scratch of a pen jotting some random reminder. He crossed back.

_Oooooh,goodness, Jack. Please, would you just come here?  Come here, come here…_

“I was nearly ready to head home over an hour ago.” Jack said with a sigh. “Then one of the candy kettles had a problem, the syrup seized. I suppose that leak in the confectionary roof must have gotten worse. You can imagine the squabbling... Thankfully, we have time. It’s only February after all.”

Jack crept into the bed behind her. His long arms gently encircled her waist and shoulders, prompting a  coo of relieved delight from his ragdoll love. Taking his hand into hers, she raised his fingers to her lips.

 “Any way. I’m sorry I’m so late, Sally.” He whispered against her neck.  “It’s always one thing, or another, followed by one more thing… ”

“You’re here now, Jack.”

“Indeed, and not an instant too soon.”

“I’m sorry. Was it a bad day?”

“Not really. Just long. I do love my work again, truly. I can’t say that enough. Only, I must admit I love this still more. It’s wondrous having someone to come home to. No slight meant against Zero, of course.”

“Of course.” Sally giggled. Stretching, she pressed more tightly to him. Jack obliged with a chuckle, coming to rest nearly on top of her, his ribs against her back. Sally sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his bones, and the expanse of his hands under her heart and under her belly.

They stayed like that for some time. Sally closed her eyes as the usual night sounds of the tower floated around them. Wind whistled and vibrated across the leaded window panes. The fire popped behind its screen, and Jack’s breaths purred against her stitched cheek. She’d nearly fallen blissfully back asleep, when he spoke, his voice sleepy and slow:

“I am most comfortable, darling. You’re practically as soft as a rain cloud, after all, but I can’t imagine you’re not feeling a touch constricted. Much as it might pain me to do so, I could give you more space if you’d like.

“Please just a little longer, Jack.”

“I’m more than happy to stay just as we are, so long as you’re comfortable.”

“I am.” She whispered firmly.


	46. Smell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had not a clue what I was going to do for this prompt, then I went to family event where someone had brought a new baby. Several of us (particularly those who have had kids) were standing around smelling this baby and oooooing and aaaahing over it... Thus the whole scene gave me a bunny.

“Ooooh!  Could I see her again?  I’m just beside myself with this one.” gushed Mrs. Corpse. Sally passed the blanket wrapped bundle to her friend. The two women huddled over it, cooing and whispering.

“A girl! Who would have guessed?” Mrs. Corpse said wistfully. “And this…” she touched her mottled gray nose to the soft wisps on the infant’s head. “It’s just horrifically magical.”

“It is something, isn’t it?” Sally smiled. “Five times, and I always forget how lovely it is.”

“Well, that’s just black magic, you realize.” Fishgal observed.

“It’s not something they _do_.” Said Mrs. Corpse, clicking her tongue. “It’s just how tiny little monsters _are_ when they’re brand new!”

“I didn’t say there was any shame in it!” Fishgal countered with a shrug. “But it’s glamour, make no mistake. I’m immune, myself. I don’t smell things the way you dry types do.”

“Well, if it’s glamour, this one needs it, poor thing. Fair play if she’s figured that much out already.” The taller of the witch sisters added with a sigh.

“She’s enormous anyway, isn’t she?” added her sister.

“She’s bigger than the boys were." Sally replied flatly. "But she isn’t a very large baby at all.”

 Mrs. Corpse sniffed again, exhaling a fluttery sigh in response. Fishgal leaned forward to test her earlier statement, leaving a dime-sized wet spot where her scaled nose brushed the down on the infant’s head. The baby released a  squeak of uncertainty.  Fishgal simply shrugged again.

“Yeah, nothing. It does nothing here.” She narrowed her eyes. “ _I see right through you, miss!_ ” She whispered pointedly.

Rolling her cloudy eyes, Mrs. Corpse passed the child back to her mother. Sally kissed the lingering dampness from Fishgal’s sniff. The women sat in silence for a time as the pumpkin sun began to lower.

“A girl. That is something.” Fishgal said to no one in particular.

“We’ll hold her for a minute.” The taller witch pronounced. One sensed she had been pondering how to ask. What came out was the best she could manage. After a beat of hesitation, Sally gently pressed the child forward into the woman’s haggard arms. Sitting side by side, the sisters leaned over the swaddled creature.

“That is some glamour, for certain. How is she doing it?” asked the shorter sister after a breath of the baby’s scent.

“It’s rather wicked, I’ll give her that.” The taller witch agreed. She passed the child back to Sally’s arms with surprisingly gentility.


End file.
